Tuesday, September 30, 2003
My kneecaps are practically MADE of pant...
Like a teenage girl's fashion magazine, i'm back to offer you yet another quiz! I hope you've been keeping track of your score from the first two quizzes, because all those points just might add up to something great (like additional points) in the near future! on the other hand, i hope you haven't been keeping all the half-dumpings, because all those dumplings could add up to something really rotten and moldy in the near future. but on to the quiz.
question 1: Have you the slightest clue as to the subject of this quiz?
a) I believe I have the second slightest clue. Too bad for the guy with the slightest clue. Sucker.
b) Clue I have not. Yoda I speak like.
c) This quiz is about individual vegetable preference.
question 2: Right you are, answer "c." Isn't it strange how the question and the "c" response always seem to carry on this sort of dialogue in these quizzes?
a) Very strange. And suspicious. I find myself flying into a jealous, homicidal fury, and I really like carrots.
b) Well, not that strange, considering the questions and responses are all written by the same guy, who is known to talk to himself.
c) Don't listen to them. They're having an "a and b" conversation, so I'm just going to "c" my way out of it.
question 3: Nice use of an annoying cliché. Now back to our regularly scheduled quiz.
a) Finally. These quizzes are getting so long and stupid. I miss the Frog Post.
b) No kidding. Your posts used to be so glorious and triumphant, and now you just babble to yourself about cheese and forest fires... it's pretty pathetic.
c) Oh, I don't know. I don't even think the old posts were that glorious. Or triumphant.
question 4: Shut up, all of you. Now, what is your favorite vegetable?
a) I already told you. Carrots.
b) Anything but carrots.
c) If you were a vegetable, i wouldn't even eat you.
question 5: This is getting way out of hand. True or False?
a) True.
b) False.
c) I changed my mind. If you were, say, a piece of celery, I think I'd eat you out of spite.
All right, this quiz has gone on long enough. Give yourself as many points as you are feet tall, and add half a dumpling if your birthday month rhymes with "Ebruary." For every "c" response, eat one piece of celery and sulk in your room for half an hour. Wash your socks. Stop repeating everything I say. Stop it. Come on, stop it. I'm a big fat dork. Ha, you didn't repeat what I said! Hey, no fair calling me a big fat dork! I'm telling the teacher on you! Stop it!
Like a teenage girl's fashion magazine, i'm back to offer you yet another quiz! I hope you've been keeping track of your score from the first two quizzes, because all those points just might add up to something great (like additional points) in the near future! on the other hand, i hope you haven't been keeping all the half-dumpings, because all those dumplings could add up to something really rotten and moldy in the near future. but on to the quiz.
question 1: Have you the slightest clue as to the subject of this quiz?
a) I believe I have the second slightest clue. Too bad for the guy with the slightest clue. Sucker.
b) Clue I have not. Yoda I speak like.
c) This quiz is about individual vegetable preference.
question 2: Right you are, answer "c." Isn't it strange how the question and the "c" response always seem to carry on this sort of dialogue in these quizzes?
a) Very strange. And suspicious. I find myself flying into a jealous, homicidal fury, and I really like carrots.
b) Well, not that strange, considering the questions and responses are all written by the same guy, who is known to talk to himself.
c) Don't listen to them. They're having an "a and b" conversation, so I'm just going to "c" my way out of it.
question 3: Nice use of an annoying cliché. Now back to our regularly scheduled quiz.
a) Finally. These quizzes are getting so long and stupid. I miss the Frog Post.
b) No kidding. Your posts used to be so glorious and triumphant, and now you just babble to yourself about cheese and forest fires... it's pretty pathetic.
c) Oh, I don't know. I don't even think the old posts were that glorious. Or triumphant.
question 4: Shut up, all of you. Now, what is your favorite vegetable?
a) I already told you. Carrots.
b) Anything but carrots.
c) If you were a vegetable, i wouldn't even eat you.
question 5: This is getting way out of hand. True or False?
a) True.
b) False.
c) I changed my mind. If you were, say, a piece of celery, I think I'd eat you out of spite.
All right, this quiz has gone on long enough. Give yourself as many points as you are feet tall, and add half a dumpling if your birthday month rhymes with "Ebruary." For every "c" response, eat one piece of celery and sulk in your room for half an hour. Wash your socks. Stop repeating everything I say. Stop it. Come on, stop it. I'm a big fat dork. Ha, you didn't repeat what I said! Hey, no fair calling me a big fat dork! I'm telling the teacher on you! Stop it!
Monday, September 29, 2003
Today's Title Was Brought to You by Somebody Stupid
A special bonus feature has been included in today's post for the enjoyment of both you and me. If you stare at this post every day for six hours, in three months you will be unemployed, starving, in horrific pain, and possibly blind.
"But wait," you say. "You said this feature was included for the enjoyment of both you and me, and that doesn't sound enjoyable at all, does it?" Well, here's the bonus part: Don't stare at this post for six hours (in fact, don't stare at it at all), and none of that unpleasant stuff will happen to you! Isn't that great? And you have the added bonus of knowing you narrowly avoided starvation, discomfort, and almost certain dorkiness.
"On to the post, then!" you say. "Not so fast," i respond. "Don't you feel any appreciation for the help and rescue i've just provided? No, you demand a hilarious extra-day-freaking post as well as life-saving wisdom and advice! Well I, for one, never."
"Oh," you reply, blushing in shame and lowering your collective head. "We didn't realize the importance of the warning you gave us. Why, despite the insurmountable odds against any of us ever staring at this post six hours a day for three months, just think what would have happened if someone accidentally did! You don't have to write a post today. In fact, we'll send you millions of dollars and key lime pie to show our gratitude."
"Thank you," I say, my evil grin nearly concealed by the sincerity in my voice. "That will be just fine."
A special bonus feature has been included in today's post for the enjoyment of both you and me. If you stare at this post every day for six hours, in three months you will be unemployed, starving, in horrific pain, and possibly blind.
"But wait," you say. "You said this feature was included for the enjoyment of both you and me, and that doesn't sound enjoyable at all, does it?" Well, here's the bonus part: Don't stare at this post for six hours (in fact, don't stare at it at all), and none of that unpleasant stuff will happen to you! Isn't that great? And you have the added bonus of knowing you narrowly avoided starvation, discomfort, and almost certain dorkiness.
"On to the post, then!" you say. "Not so fast," i respond. "Don't you feel any appreciation for the help and rescue i've just provided? No, you demand a hilarious extra-day-freaking post as well as life-saving wisdom and advice! Well I, for one, never."
"Oh," you reply, blushing in shame and lowering your collective head. "We didn't realize the importance of the warning you gave us. Why, despite the insurmountable odds against any of us ever staring at this post six hours a day for three months, just think what would have happened if someone accidentally did! You don't have to write a post today. In fact, we'll send you millions of dollars and key lime pie to show our gratitude."
"Thank you," I say, my evil grin nearly concealed by the sincerity in my voice. "That will be just fine."
Sunday, September 28, 2003
I got a walrus the size of a walrus, man...
Rebuttals? Yes, in fact, it is time for rebuttals. How did you know? Anyway, i'm using today as an opportunity to right a few wrongs, as well as a shameless excuse to get you to read through my archives. First off, there is the Thursday, Sept. 25 episode (In Which Bensaki Writes an Entry Which is Very Cheesy Indeed) that i wrote in response to a guestbook entry demanding allusion to cheese. Said entry cited my previous lack of cheese references, so i, without hesitation or background checks, went right ahead and wrote an entire post about cheese. Afterward, i wondered whether, in fact, i had really maintained a blog for nearly a month without ever mentioning that special kind of bacterially-enhanced milk that we hold so dear in my home state. Upon inspection, i found that this wasn't the case. Let the jury consider Episode #19, Tuesday, September 16 (In Which Bensaki Mentions Cheese in Not One But Two Sentences) and hold me innocent of all charges of cheese-mention neglect.
In closing, everybody who reads my page and signs my guestbook is totally rad.
Rebuttals? Yes, in fact, it is time for rebuttals. How did you know? Anyway, i'm using today as an opportunity to right a few wrongs, as well as a shameless excuse to get you to read through my archives. First off, there is the Thursday, Sept. 25 episode (In Which Bensaki Writes an Entry Which is Very Cheesy Indeed) that i wrote in response to a guestbook entry demanding allusion to cheese. Said entry cited my previous lack of cheese references, so i, without hesitation or background checks, went right ahead and wrote an entire post about cheese. Afterward, i wondered whether, in fact, i had really maintained a blog for nearly a month without ever mentioning that special kind of bacterially-enhanced milk that we hold so dear in my home state. Upon inspection, i found that this wasn't the case. Let the jury consider Episode #19, Tuesday, September 16 (In Which Bensaki Mentions Cheese in Not One But Two Sentences) and hold me innocent of all charges of cheese-mention neglect.
In closing, everybody who reads my page and signs my guestbook is totally rad.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Too little, too late...
If i was Colonel Sanders' mom, i would be incredibly disappointed. I mean, it's a pretty long fall from glorious war colonel to chicken vendor.
If i was Colonel Sanders' mom, i would be incredibly disappointed. I mean, it's a pretty long fall from glorious war colonel to chicken vendor.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Make a wish to your Dairy Godmother...
Today's post goes out to Pogee, who quoted thus in my guestbook: "So anyways Ben I got a question. Why no cheese? I mean you love cheese, she loves cheese, and I love cheese. Please man for the love of things holy mention cheese in one of your up coming entries. Thanks Man!"
One of the things i like never to do is disappoint people, especially Pogee. So in the spirit of love and harmony, i offer this sentence fragment/bunch of letters crammed together:
Cheese.
Now back to your regularly scheduled post. No, i'm just kidding. It'd be pretty weak for me to just mention cheese and not elaborate in the least. That's not the kind of friend i want to be. On second thought, what kind of friend do i want to be? The kind of friend who is made of cheese? Hmmmmm.... *begin dream sequence*
Me: What's up, Pogee? You wanna hang out later?
Pogee: You know it! I'll bring the tortilla chips!
Me: HOLD on a second... I'm running out of limbs for you to melt down here. You remember last week's fondue party, where someone accidentally hit an important artery and they had to rush me to the hospital for an Eazy-Cheeze transfusion?
Pogee: Oh, man. That was brutal.
Me: No kidding! Not to mention the stressful classes i've had lately, and the wild animals nibbling on my legs every time i go outside... life has been really grating lately.
Pogee: Wow! Even your jokes are made of cheese!
*fade back into reality*
Yeah. Maybe i'll just be the kind of friend who isn't made of cheese. You'll notice, by the way, how i avoided making any jokes about head cheese or toe cheese in this post. I like to think i'm above that sort of crude humor. Excuse me while i go cut the cheese.
Today's post goes out to Pogee, who quoted thus in my guestbook: "So anyways Ben I got a question. Why no cheese? I mean you love cheese, she loves cheese, and I love cheese. Please man for the love of things holy mention cheese in one of your up coming entries. Thanks Man!"
One of the things i like never to do is disappoint people, especially Pogee. So in the spirit of love and harmony, i offer this sentence fragment/bunch of letters crammed together:
Cheese.
Now back to your regularly scheduled post. No, i'm just kidding. It'd be pretty weak for me to just mention cheese and not elaborate in the least. That's not the kind of friend i want to be. On second thought, what kind of friend do i want to be? The kind of friend who is made of cheese? Hmmmmm.... *begin dream sequence*
Me: What's up, Pogee? You wanna hang out later?
Pogee: You know it! I'll bring the tortilla chips!
Me: HOLD on a second... I'm running out of limbs for you to melt down here. You remember last week's fondue party, where someone accidentally hit an important artery and they had to rush me to the hospital for an Eazy-Cheeze transfusion?
Pogee: Oh, man. That was brutal.
Me: No kidding! Not to mention the stressful classes i've had lately, and the wild animals nibbling on my legs every time i go outside... life has been really grating lately.
Pogee: Wow! Even your jokes are made of cheese!
*fade back into reality*
Yeah. Maybe i'll just be the kind of friend who isn't made of cheese. You'll notice, by the way, how i avoided making any jokes about head cheese or toe cheese in this post. I like to think i'm above that sort of crude humor. Excuse me while i go cut the cheese.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
We are the Music Makers, We are the Freakers of Days
So the window was open and a leaf blew in today. I could tell from the get-go that this thing had an attitude problem. I knew it from the way it looked at me, and from the snide rustlings that it made as it circled the room. "Oh," it seemed to say, "so you think you're too good for nature now, is that it? Oh, look at me, my name's Ben and I have to live in a nice cozy room with walls and a gold-plated dumpling maker because I'm AFRAID OF NATURE!!" Well, needless to say, I wasn't going to take that kind of crap from a leaf. I got out my Guaranteed Ancient Possibly Authentic Way Shiny Samurai Sword (a spoon) and brandished it like an experienced lifelong brandisher. That got him scared. His implied taunts became less frequent and more cowardly, even to the untrained ear. He sort of drifted off into the corner, and i knew i had him cornered. So i finished him off with one last psychological attack: i told him that if he kept up this baditude (baditude: a composite of the words "bad" and "attitude," may or may not be an incredibly dorky thing to say), i had every intention of ignoring my God-given ability to prevent forest fires. That stopped him dead in his tracks. He fell to the ground, as though his energy had suddenly left him, or someone had closed the window and stopped the wind from blowing him around. Maybe that was it. Well, either way, no leaves had better try messing with me again. Next time i'm getting out the Samurai Spork.
So the window was open and a leaf blew in today. I could tell from the get-go that this thing had an attitude problem. I knew it from the way it looked at me, and from the snide rustlings that it made as it circled the room. "Oh," it seemed to say, "so you think you're too good for nature now, is that it? Oh, look at me, my name's Ben and I have to live in a nice cozy room with walls and a gold-plated dumpling maker because I'm AFRAID OF NATURE!!" Well, needless to say, I wasn't going to take that kind of crap from a leaf. I got out my Guaranteed Ancient Possibly Authentic Way Shiny Samurai Sword (a spoon) and brandished it like an experienced lifelong brandisher. That got him scared. His implied taunts became less frequent and more cowardly, even to the untrained ear. He sort of drifted off into the corner, and i knew i had him cornered. So i finished him off with one last psychological attack: i told him that if he kept up this baditude (baditude: a composite of the words "bad" and "attitude," may or may not be an incredibly dorky thing to say), i had every intention of ignoring my God-given ability to prevent forest fires. That stopped him dead in his tracks. He fell to the ground, as though his energy had suddenly left him, or someone had closed the window and stopped the wind from blowing him around. Maybe that was it. Well, either way, no leaves had better try messing with me again. Next time i'm getting out the Samurai Spork.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Sport Utility Vegetables
Sometimes i get so jealous when i see Smokey the Bear talking to someone else. It's times like those when i wish i was the only person on earth, and then it would really be only me who could prevent forest fires. Man, that'd be great.
Sometimes i get so jealous when i see Smokey the Bear talking to someone else. It's times like those when i wish i was the only person on earth, and then it would really be only me who could prevent forest fires. Man, that'd be great.
Monday, September 22, 2003
Wallabies and Wannabes
To Whom It May Concern:
I write to inform you that you face a very urgent choice. You can experience the beautiful things before your eyes in the fleeting seconds that they exist, appreciating and enjoying the life given to you, or you can do your homework. The choice is yours, but I strongly recommend one option over the other. Perhaps you can guess which one it is.
The world is shaped like this: There are flowers and trees, and there are thick textbooks. There is a cosmic dance of stars and planets in the night sky, and there is verb conjugation. There are entertaining and deep conversations with close friends, and there are essays on such historic early inventions as the sharp stick. There is thirst-quenching rain that comes in the middle of the night, reflecting the warm streetlights on the glossy black pavement and sending the world into a sparkling frenzy of dark and light, and there are quadratic equations.
I realize that there exist such things as responsibility and success and money. And I imagine some of them may be important to you. And you can choose to do your homework if that's really what you want. But don't come whining to me when you're not having any fun.
Honestly yours,
Bensaki
(credits to diane for the inspiration for today's post)
To Whom It May Concern:
I write to inform you that you face a very urgent choice. You can experience the beautiful things before your eyes in the fleeting seconds that they exist, appreciating and enjoying the life given to you, or you can do your homework. The choice is yours, but I strongly recommend one option over the other. Perhaps you can guess which one it is.
The world is shaped like this: There are flowers and trees, and there are thick textbooks. There is a cosmic dance of stars and planets in the night sky, and there is verb conjugation. There are entertaining and deep conversations with close friends, and there are essays on such historic early inventions as the sharp stick. There is thirst-quenching rain that comes in the middle of the night, reflecting the warm streetlights on the glossy black pavement and sending the world into a sparkling frenzy of dark and light, and there are quadratic equations.
I realize that there exist such things as responsibility and success and money. And I imagine some of them may be important to you. And you can choose to do your homework if that's really what you want. But don't come whining to me when you're not having any fun.
Honestly yours,
Bensaki
(credits to diane for the inspiration for today's post)
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a freaky face...
Let's do an experiment, shall we? This is going to be fun, i promise. First you have to blindfold everybody. Then you take a bunch of tape, and put it all over everything. Sticky side up. Then you buy a lot of tortilla chips, pour cod liver oil over them, and crush them into tiny bits. Spread liberally. Yell "Free nachos!" and watch the ensuing chaos. Yum.
Let's do an experiment, shall we? This is going to be fun, i promise. First you have to blindfold everybody. Then you take a bunch of tape, and put it all over everything. Sticky side up. Then you buy a lot of tortilla chips, pour cod liver oil over them, and crush them into tiny bits. Spread liberally. Yell "Free nachos!" and watch the ensuing chaos. Yum.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
Spell Check: 1, Me: 0
MathGuy2004 (5:09:21 PM): was he happy with it - i figured (with Dan and Dave) that he would be as pissed off as a urinal is pissed on
why must matt be so hilarious? and right off the top of his head? in other news, since i can't (apparently) put anna's entire blog in quotes and post it on my site, i'm going to do it symbolically (just like i said i would) by linking it on my sidebar. go there, read it, and pretend like i quoted the whole thing. (except when she quotes me, because that would be kinda weird, you know, me quoting myself indirectly and all... weird.) sidebar is a funny word.
MathGuy2004 (5:09:21 PM): was he happy with it - i figured (with Dan and Dave) that he would be as pissed off as a urinal is pissed on
why must matt be so hilarious? and right off the top of his head? in other news, since i can't (apparently) put anna's entire blog in quotes and post it on my site, i'm going to do it symbolically (just like i said i would) by linking it on my sidebar. go there, read it, and pretend like i quoted the whole thing. (except when she quotes me, because that would be kinda weird, you know, me quoting myself indirectly and all... weird.) sidebar is a funny word.
Army Surplus Store: Putting the War in your Wardrobe
If you can't have it all, at least you can have a more freaked-up day, thanks to the magic (not actual magic) of the internet. Just listen to this one guy i found on the street and forced to read my entire blog, at scissorpoint:
"Ow! Stop it! Yes, the... the way to "freak up," so to speak, your, um... ow! "day," that is, yes, the day in which you would like to OW!! MY EAR! My e-he-he-heeeeaarr!!! *sob* WHY? WHY!?!? That was my favorite ear, and now it's... it's... it's GOT A HOLE IN IT!!! oh, WHY, WHY, WHY..." *breaks down crying*
Um.... that's not what he meant. I'm sure that's not what he meant. You know how people get overdramatic when they're being recorded... he was just "hamming it up" for the audience... yeah. That's what happened. Clean up that blood, will you? Okay, let me try this again. Just listen to this one guy i found on the street and didn't force to read my entire blog, at scissorpoint:
"Please. Please! Don't hurt me anymore! I'll say whatever you want! This site is the best and everyone should read it all the time and it cures cancer and it smells so much better than dead animals and... and... i'm not lying!!"
That's better. Remember, everybody: My site smells much better - so much better, that is - than dead animals. Beat that.
If you can't have it all, at least you can have a more freaked-up day, thanks to the magic (not actual magic) of the internet. Just listen to this one guy i found on the street and forced to read my entire blog, at scissorpoint:
"Ow! Stop it! Yes, the... the way to "freak up," so to speak, your, um... ow! "day," that is, yes, the day in which you would like to OW!! MY EAR! My e-he-he-heeeeaarr!!! *sob* WHY? WHY!?!? That was my favorite ear, and now it's... it's... it's GOT A HOLE IN IT!!! oh, WHY, WHY, WHY..." *breaks down crying*
Um.... that's not what he meant. I'm sure that's not what he meant. You know how people get overdramatic when they're being recorded... he was just "hamming it up" for the audience... yeah. That's what happened. Clean up that blood, will you? Okay, let me try this again. Just listen to this one guy i found on the street and didn't force to read my entire blog, at scissorpoint:
"Please. Please! Don't hurt me anymore! I'll say whatever you want! This site is the best and everyone should read it all the time and it cures cancer and it smells so much better than dead animals and... and... i'm not lying!!"
That's better. Remember, everybody: My site smells much better - so much better, that is - than dead animals. Beat that.
Friday, September 19, 2003
What kind of entrée sings the blues? Filet of Soul.
By now you have been reading this post for at least three seconds. At first glance, the accuracy of the above statement may appear to be due to some sort of witchcraft, or perhaps a spy camera system i have set up in your home. I can assure you, it is neither of those. I hope that by the mere suggestion of such a thing i have not caused you to go on a berserk rampage throughout your house with an aluminum baseball bat in search of tiny hidden cameras, smashing expensive ming vases, light fixtures and the occasional mannequin head; although, admittedly, that would rule. No, the main point of such a statement was to impress everybody with my estimatory skills, which are unmatched by an estimated 500 billion people worldwide.
On a related note, i really have nothing else to say today. An estimated nothing, mind you. Of course, knowing my amazing estimating ablilty, that estimation is bound to be extremely accurate. So if i were you, i would expect me to say absolutely nothing else today, in accordance with my estimate. Yes, sir. Nothing else.
Let me tell you a story. Yesterday, i was walking around, and i decided to go into the bookstore. I went into the bookstore. I started looking around, and then i looked at some books. I thought to myself, "Wow, i didn't know there were books here. I wonder if i can buy some?" Then i thought about the fact that i was in a bookstore, and i inferred the answer to my question from the information that i already knew. It went something like this: Stores sell things. This is a store. This is a bookstore. It probably sells books. There are some books here. The bookstore probably sells these books. If the bookstore sells these books, i can probably buy them. But wait. I don't have any money. The end.
By now you have been reading this post for at least three seconds. At first glance, the accuracy of the above statement may appear to be due to some sort of witchcraft, or perhaps a spy camera system i have set up in your home. I can assure you, it is neither of those. I hope that by the mere suggestion of such a thing i have not caused you to go on a berserk rampage throughout your house with an aluminum baseball bat in search of tiny hidden cameras, smashing expensive ming vases, light fixtures and the occasional mannequin head; although, admittedly, that would rule. No, the main point of such a statement was to impress everybody with my estimatory skills, which are unmatched by an estimated 500 billion people worldwide.
On a related note, i really have nothing else to say today. An estimated nothing, mind you. Of course, knowing my amazing estimating ablilty, that estimation is bound to be extremely accurate. So if i were you, i would expect me to say absolutely nothing else today, in accordance with my estimate. Yes, sir. Nothing else.
Let me tell you a story. Yesterday, i was walking around, and i decided to go into the bookstore. I went into the bookstore. I started looking around, and then i looked at some books. I thought to myself, "Wow, i didn't know there were books here. I wonder if i can buy some?" Then i thought about the fact that i was in a bookstore, and i inferred the answer to my question from the information that i already knew. It went something like this: Stores sell things. This is a store. This is a bookstore. It probably sells books. There are some books here. The bookstore probably sells these books. If the bookstore sells these books, i can probably buy them. But wait. I don't have any money. The end.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Angry Crab Befriender?
so me and dave had this insult-a-thon on instant messenger last night. i saved the conversation in a text document because it was so amusing, but for whatever reason part of the conversation didn't get copied and i lost some really ingenious names that i came up with (Japanese-little-kid-cartoon enjoyer) and some substandard, immature insults dave threw back which all involved the word 'poo.' but for your enjoyment and general freakage, i will here transmit a preserved portion of the conversation. (i'm saki59, dave is CheesyGuy15.)
Cheesy Guy 15: dumbhead
saki59: carpetbagger
saki59: inadequate-elbows
Cheesy Guy 15: insignificant compared to a carpetbagger and also smells like pooer
saki59: Slinky ingester
Cheesy Guy 15: barf for hair nose disector
saki59: finger dipper in gravy and lick off-er
Cheesy Guy 15: dude, thats not an insult
saki59: it is when it's insect brain gravy
Cheesy Guy 15: your the epitomy of being a unskilled carpet shampooer and greaser of engines
saki59: you can't spell epitome
Cheesy Guy 15: no, its a word that you haven't heard of
Cheesy Guy 15: give me a second and i'll get you the definition
saki59: don't think so, emptier of garbage cans for a living
Cheesy Guy 15: epitomy:noun. a 2nd class citizen who sniffs the elderly'
Cheesy Guy 15: oops
Cheesy Guy 15: i'm still finishing
saki59: i bet
saki59: floss reuser
Cheesy Guy 15: 's farts and is much worse at insulting than something. e.g. "your the epitomy of being an unskilled carpet shampooer and greaser of engines"
saki59: collector of possum spleens and young girl's doll clothing
Cheesy Guy 15: see how it fits you perfectly?
saki59: pretentious theatre attender
Cheesy Guy 15: oh
Cheesy Guy 15: yeah??!?!
Cheesy Guy 15: your nothing but a poop!
at this point, i had to leave, so the festivities were sadly ended. they went on for quite some time before this as well, but the good ones (as i said before) were lost. however, if any of you should feel you can trade punches in a more worthy manner, feel free to IM me sometime and give it a go. that includes you, dave, you giant squid-headed armpit hair stylist.
so me and dave had this insult-a-thon on instant messenger last night. i saved the conversation in a text document because it was so amusing, but for whatever reason part of the conversation didn't get copied and i lost some really ingenious names that i came up with (Japanese-little-kid-cartoon enjoyer) and some substandard, immature insults dave threw back which all involved the word 'poo.' but for your enjoyment and general freakage, i will here transmit a preserved portion of the conversation. (i'm saki59, dave is CheesyGuy15.)
Cheesy Guy 15: dumbhead
saki59: carpetbagger
saki59: inadequate-elbows
Cheesy Guy 15: insignificant compared to a carpetbagger and also smells like pooer
saki59: Slinky ingester
Cheesy Guy 15: barf for hair nose disector
saki59: finger dipper in gravy and lick off-er
Cheesy Guy 15: dude, thats not an insult
saki59: it is when it's insect brain gravy
Cheesy Guy 15: your the epitomy of being a unskilled carpet shampooer and greaser of engines
saki59: you can't spell epitome
Cheesy Guy 15: no, its a word that you haven't heard of
Cheesy Guy 15: give me a second and i'll get you the definition
saki59: don't think so, emptier of garbage cans for a living
Cheesy Guy 15: epitomy:noun. a 2nd class citizen who sniffs the elderly'
Cheesy Guy 15: oops
Cheesy Guy 15: i'm still finishing
saki59: i bet
saki59: floss reuser
Cheesy Guy 15: 's farts and is much worse at insulting than something. e.g. "your the epitomy of being an unskilled carpet shampooer and greaser of engines"
saki59: collector of possum spleens and young girl's doll clothing
Cheesy Guy 15: see how it fits you perfectly?
saki59: pretentious theatre attender
Cheesy Guy 15: oh
Cheesy Guy 15: yeah??!?!
Cheesy Guy 15: your nothing but a poop!
at this point, i had to leave, so the festivities were sadly ended. they went on for quite some time before this as well, but the good ones (as i said before) were lost. however, if any of you should feel you can trade punches in a more worthy manner, feel free to IM me sometime and give it a go. that includes you, dave, you giant squid-headed armpit hair stylist.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Hygiene: This time, it's personal.
If M&Ms were yetis, they wouldn't melt in your mouth or your hand. They'd eat you.
If M&Ms were yetis, they wouldn't melt in your mouth or your hand. They'd eat you.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Titles? Titles!
that's right. to the keen eye, it was perceptible yesterday that i had suddenly begun incorporating titles at the appropriate place in my posts (the beginning). the prognosis so far is for this habit to continue; whether or not it will creep into retroactivity remains to be seen.
today's post arrives without warning. consider yourselves unwarned. if you have received a warning, disregard it. if you, in turn, have passed that warning on to someone else, contact them immediately via cellular phone, smoke signals or ESP, and withdraw the warning. if you happen to see a warning broadcast on a local television station, call the station and inform them of their error, demanding a full retraction of said warning. if you see a blimp pass by with a banner displaying a warning, go immediately to your closet/local gun store/shoulder holster, retrieve a firearm, and aim true. if there is a mysterious mold growing on your cheese which somehow spells out a warning, hesitate not, dear friend. eat that cheese before somebody sees it. it is absolutely imperative that today's post arrive without warning. why? well, to be honest, it's because i'm fresh out of actual humor, and the element of surprise is about the only thing i've got left.
surprised? i thought so.
that's right. to the keen eye, it was perceptible yesterday that i had suddenly begun incorporating titles at the appropriate place in my posts (the beginning). the prognosis so far is for this habit to continue; whether or not it will creep into retroactivity remains to be seen.
today's post arrives without warning. consider yourselves unwarned. if you have received a warning, disregard it. if you, in turn, have passed that warning on to someone else, contact them immediately via cellular phone, smoke signals or ESP, and withdraw the warning. if you happen to see a warning broadcast on a local television station, call the station and inform them of their error, demanding a full retraction of said warning. if you see a blimp pass by with a banner displaying a warning, go immediately to your closet/local gun store/shoulder holster, retrieve a firearm, and aim true. if there is a mysterious mold growing on your cheese which somehow spells out a warning, hesitate not, dear friend. eat that cheese before somebody sees it. it is absolutely imperative that today's post arrive without warning. why? well, to be honest, it's because i'm fresh out of actual humor, and the element of surprise is about the only thing i've got left.
surprised? i thought so.
Monday, September 15, 2003
I'm freezing my Philippines off...
i'll tell you what.
i'm going to break character here a second and tell you something that actually happened in my real life, because the equator doesn't go through Antarctica, and anyone who thinks it does deserves at least a thorough flogging on my website.
so the equator doesn't go through Antarctica, as anyone who knows anything at all could tell you. my astronomy textbook, astute and majestical, begs to differ, in the form of an illustration on page 29, depicting the earth's tilted axis of rotation and the resulting change of the seasons. an approximation of earth, complete with continents, is shown, and imaginary white lines, the illustrator's best friend and confidant, are drawn to represent the North Pole (in the Philippine Islands) and the South Pole (in the west Atlantic). among other disastrous implications, this means that the equator (as discussed) meanders, nay, marches boldly across the wide plain of Antarctica. Hell is expected to freeze over at about 2:30 on the autumnal equinox.
now, i apologize for this brief and slightly unwarranted glimpse into the actual events of my real life, but something had to be done. penguins have enough stress as it is without having to brave the arid tropical summers of the equatorial region. come on, people. it's just as easy to get these things right.
i'll tell you what.
i'm going to break character here a second and tell you something that actually happened in my real life, because the equator doesn't go through Antarctica, and anyone who thinks it does deserves at least a thorough flogging on my website.
so the equator doesn't go through Antarctica, as anyone who knows anything at all could tell you. my astronomy textbook, astute and majestical, begs to differ, in the form of an illustration on page 29, depicting the earth's tilted axis of rotation and the resulting change of the seasons. an approximation of earth, complete with continents, is shown, and imaginary white lines, the illustrator's best friend and confidant, are drawn to represent the North Pole (in the Philippine Islands) and the South Pole (in the west Atlantic). among other disastrous implications, this means that the equator (as discussed) meanders, nay, marches boldly across the wide plain of Antarctica. Hell is expected to freeze over at about 2:30 on the autumnal equinox.
now, i apologize for this brief and slightly unwarranted glimpse into the actual events of my real life, but something had to be done. penguins have enough stress as it is without having to brave the arid tropical summers of the equatorial region. come on, people. it's just as easy to get these things right.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
She was a day freaker, a one-way ticket yeah...
--dispatch--
It has come to our attention here at bensaki.blogspot.com that our website has been functioning as a kind of enabler by providing day-freaking services free of charge, thus leaving the general public without the knowledge or skill to freak up its own day. As it has been said by the wise sages of our time and centuries gone by, "Give a man a freak, and you freak up his day. Teach a man to freak, and you freak up his lifetime." That may or may not be worded correctly, but the concept remains intact. In that spirit, today's post will teach you (that's right, YOU) how to freak up your own day as often as you like. Gather the following household materials and come along.
-1 cup sugar
-4 tablespoons nutmeg
-8 generous handfuls crocodile
-3 low-calorie newspapers
-17 full-grown pigeons
-144 bags Corn Nuts
-2 sockfuls table salt
-12 buckets coral reef
-1 paper bagful shredded paper bag
-1 standard posthole digger
-the Moon
Shake vigorously. Add coconut. Subtract coconut. Divide early Roman Empire. Next, take half of the pigeons and feed to each handful of crocodile. Sprinkle with shredded paper bag. Slap mixture around with sockfuls of salt. Add sugar, nutmeg, and coral reef. Dig posthole and drop mixture in. Wait two hours, watching occasionally for passersby to fall in and meet tragic crocodilian fate. Read about the gruesome event in tomorrow's lo-cal newspaper. Move to the Moon.
After you have done all these things, take remaining sanity and pour into glass bowl. Drop off tall parking ramp. Then find a computer and type the first thing that comes to mind. Freaks up 1-3 days.
With the knowledge you now have, you will be prepared, in the event of my sudden inability to freak, to take control of the freaking situation. Use this wisdom wisely, my friends, for the world may someday depend on you.
--end dispatch--
--dispatch--
It has come to our attention here at bensaki.blogspot.com that our website has been functioning as a kind of enabler by providing day-freaking services free of charge, thus leaving the general public without the knowledge or skill to freak up its own day. As it has been said by the wise sages of our time and centuries gone by, "Give a man a freak, and you freak up his day. Teach a man to freak, and you freak up his lifetime." That may or may not be worded correctly, but the concept remains intact. In that spirit, today's post will teach you (that's right, YOU) how to freak up your own day as often as you like. Gather the following household materials and come along.
-1 cup sugar
-4 tablespoons nutmeg
-8 generous handfuls crocodile
-3 low-calorie newspapers
-17 full-grown pigeons
-144 bags Corn Nuts
-2 sockfuls table salt
-12 buckets coral reef
-1 paper bagful shredded paper bag
-1 standard posthole digger
-the Moon
Shake vigorously. Add coconut. Subtract coconut. Divide early Roman Empire. Next, take half of the pigeons and feed to each handful of crocodile. Sprinkle with shredded paper bag. Slap mixture around with sockfuls of salt. Add sugar, nutmeg, and coral reef. Dig posthole and drop mixture in. Wait two hours, watching occasionally for passersby to fall in and meet tragic crocodilian fate. Read about the gruesome event in tomorrow's lo-cal newspaper. Move to the Moon.
After you have done all these things, take remaining sanity and pour into glass bowl. Drop off tall parking ramp. Then find a computer and type the first thing that comes to mind. Freaks up 1-3 days.
With the knowledge you now have, you will be prepared, in the event of my sudden inability to freak, to take control of the freaking situation. Use this wisdom wisely, my friends, for the world may someday depend on you.
--end dispatch--
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Kicking the Rabbit Habit
it's quiz time again, folks! time to earn more points and half-a-dumplings to enjoy in your very own home! (your very own home sold separately.) today's topic could earn you big points, or small dumplings, because the topic is something almost everybody knows about, or has at least read about in a local newspaper. (not to be confused with a lo-cal newspaper.) what is that subject? pants! pants. how well do YOUR pants fit YOU? (question not rhetorical.)
question one: can you breathe?
a) yes. and what's more, i do.
b) yes, but for whatever reason i just choose not to.
c) no, i can't. i think it might be my pants.
question two: it probably is your pants. now for the question: how well-defined are the outlines of your kneecaps as viewed from the outside of your pants?
a) quite well-defined. and that's the consensus of several experts.
b) less well-defined. less than what, i'm not sure.
c) my kneecaps are practically MADE of pant.
question three: that's creepy.
a) for sure.
b) creepy to the max!
c) mm, yes, even i have to agree it's creepy.
question four:
a) yes.
b) no.
c) no.
question five: from a relative distance, would one be able to tell the difference between your pants and a pair of denim golf clubs?
a) i assume you're equating the heads of the golf clubs to my feet. because that's a pretty funny image. heh heh heh... yeah.
b) yes, of course you could tell the difference! my pants are khaki.
c) well, no, you couldn't, but you should see the length of my kick! i mean, drive!
question six: if i gave you seventy-five cents, would you be able to fit your hand into your pocket to put the money there?
a) yes! can i get the seventy-five cents in gummi worms?
b) no, but it's only because my pockets are already way too full. i'm such a high-roller, i've got bling-bling coming out my ears. stop laughing at me.
c) no, i wouldn't. are you trying to hint at the fact that my pants might be too tight?
well, let's see, what do you think? dang, it's hard to express sarcasm in writing. anyway, add up your scores. give yourself one point for every 'a' response, half a dumpling for every 'b' response, and if you had any 'c' responses, your pants are way the crap too tight. change quickly, and come back tomorrow for another thorough freaking.
it's quiz time again, folks! time to earn more points and half-a-dumplings to enjoy in your very own home! (your very own home sold separately.) today's topic could earn you big points, or small dumplings, because the topic is something almost everybody knows about, or has at least read about in a local newspaper. (not to be confused with a lo-cal newspaper.) what is that subject? pants! pants. how well do YOUR pants fit YOU? (question not rhetorical.)
question one: can you breathe?
a) yes. and what's more, i do.
b) yes, but for whatever reason i just choose not to.
c) no, i can't. i think it might be my pants.
question two: it probably is your pants. now for the question: how well-defined are the outlines of your kneecaps as viewed from the outside of your pants?
a) quite well-defined. and that's the consensus of several experts.
b) less well-defined. less than what, i'm not sure.
c) my kneecaps are practically MADE of pant.
question three: that's creepy.
a) for sure.
b) creepy to the max!
c) mm, yes, even i have to agree it's creepy.
question four:
a) yes.
b) no.
c) no.
question five: from a relative distance, would one be able to tell the difference between your pants and a pair of denim golf clubs?
a) i assume you're equating the heads of the golf clubs to my feet. because that's a pretty funny image. heh heh heh... yeah.
b) yes, of course you could tell the difference! my pants are khaki.
c) well, no, you couldn't, but you should see the length of my kick! i mean, drive!
question six: if i gave you seventy-five cents, would you be able to fit your hand into your pocket to put the money there?
a) yes! can i get the seventy-five cents in gummi worms?
b) no, but it's only because my pockets are already way too full. i'm such a high-roller, i've got bling-bling coming out my ears. stop laughing at me.
c) no, i wouldn't. are you trying to hint at the fact that my pants might be too tight?
well, let's see, what do you think? dang, it's hard to express sarcasm in writing. anyway, add up your scores. give yourself one point for every 'a' response, half a dumpling for every 'b' response, and if you had any 'c' responses, your pants are way the crap too tight. change quickly, and come back tomorrow for another thorough freaking.
Friday, September 12, 2003
As surely as I live, said he, you shall see no rain until my duck gets his laser gun back.
do you hear that? do you feel it? that rumbling in the distance? that, ladies and gentlemen, is the impending onslaught of THE GREATEST POST IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. it's coming, my friends. and it's coming TODAY. oh yes. do you remember that post about the frog? child's play. this post eats frogs as appetizers. then again, so do a lot of people. ok, better analogy. this post uses frogs as toothpicks. then again, frogs make pretty horrible toothpicks, so if this post continues to use them as toothpicks despite the obvious inefficiency of such an act, it would prove this post to be pretty irrational and thus not capable of being all that great. but no. on the contrary, not only is this post perfectly rational, it is educated, well-dressed, physically unmatched, undeniably great, humongous, barbaric, possessed of a brick-wall physique, and it uses frogs as freaking TOOTHPICKS. you know what i mean. i mean, if this post was a government official in the early babylonian empire, and you were a lesser government official, priest, or sheep farmer in the same early babylonian empire, you would pay this thing TRIBUTE. if this post was a toy soldier, it'd be the toy commander-in-chief. if this post was fruit, it'd be... like, a really big kind of fruit. if this post was an analogy, it'd be a whole crapload better than any of my analogies. that's for sure.
coincidentally, this post does demand tribute. tribute in the form of 75% of your sheep. it's got a calculator too, so don't even try to shortchange it on the sheep. and about the calculator: it's not a regular old calculator, or a scientific calculator, or a graphing calculator, or even a Hawaiian Punch brand Wacky Tropicalculator. this is the world's only Combination Sheep Tribute Calculator and Tactical Nuclear Device. and it knows where you live. crap, this is gonna rule.
do you hear that? do you feel it? that rumbling in the distance? that, ladies and gentlemen, is the impending onslaught of THE GREATEST POST IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. it's coming, my friends. and it's coming TODAY. oh yes. do you remember that post about the frog? child's play. this post eats frogs as appetizers. then again, so do a lot of people. ok, better analogy. this post uses frogs as toothpicks. then again, frogs make pretty horrible toothpicks, so if this post continues to use them as toothpicks despite the obvious inefficiency of such an act, it would prove this post to be pretty irrational and thus not capable of being all that great. but no. on the contrary, not only is this post perfectly rational, it is educated, well-dressed, physically unmatched, undeniably great, humongous, barbaric, possessed of a brick-wall physique, and it uses frogs as freaking TOOTHPICKS. you know what i mean. i mean, if this post was a government official in the early babylonian empire, and you were a lesser government official, priest, or sheep farmer in the same early babylonian empire, you would pay this thing TRIBUTE. if this post was a toy soldier, it'd be the toy commander-in-chief. if this post was fruit, it'd be... like, a really big kind of fruit. if this post was an analogy, it'd be a whole crapload better than any of my analogies. that's for sure.
coincidentally, this post does demand tribute. tribute in the form of 75% of your sheep. it's got a calculator too, so don't even try to shortchange it on the sheep. and about the calculator: it's not a regular old calculator, or a scientific calculator, or a graphing calculator, or even a Hawaiian Punch brand Wacky Tropicalculator. this is the world's only Combination Sheep Tribute Calculator and Tactical Nuclear Device. and it knows where you live. crap, this is gonna rule.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
That wasn't me, that was Johnny Rockets...
so yesterday i was all a-fluster. don't ask me how that happened, because i'm going to tell you. this kind of thing isn't all that uncommon. anyway, it started when i missed breakfast. that, when i think back on it, was the turning point. so then i went to history class with a kind of pang in my stomach. needless to say, my mind wandered off as we learned about early civilizations in the fertile croissant... mesopotatochips... mmmmm... hammurabi... i couldn't concentrate, as you can see. then it was on to astronomy, where we learned how to define a parsec. the parsec, for some reason, only seemed to serve as a garnish to my history buffet. mmmmm... parsecs. anyway, after that i *finally* got to lunch, but there was an astronomical line (why do i say things like that? why?) and i had to wait for what seemed like a bronze age. it’s kinda weird how these things just come full circle... unlike this post. it went nowhere. maybe it’s because i was all a-fluster? wow, i’m sorry, guys. this is the crappiest post i’ve ever written. i’ll try harder tomorrow, i promise.
so yesterday i was all a-fluster. don't ask me how that happened, because i'm going to tell you. this kind of thing isn't all that uncommon. anyway, it started when i missed breakfast. that, when i think back on it, was the turning point. so then i went to history class with a kind of pang in my stomach. needless to say, my mind wandered off as we learned about early civilizations in the fertile croissant... mesopotatochips... mmmmm... hammurabi... i couldn't concentrate, as you can see. then it was on to astronomy, where we learned how to define a parsec. the parsec, for some reason, only seemed to serve as a garnish to my history buffet. mmmmm... parsecs. anyway, after that i *finally* got to lunch, but there was an astronomical line (why do i say things like that? why?) and i had to wait for what seemed like a bronze age. it’s kinda weird how these things just come full circle... unlike this post. it went nowhere. maybe it’s because i was all a-fluster? wow, i’m sorry, guys. this is the crappiest post i’ve ever written. i’ll try harder tomorrow, i promise.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
"What if i froze to death?" "I can't discuss that, that's hypothetical hypothermia."
hello again. today's post is going to be a bit different. people are going to look at this blatantly different post and say, "whoa! what is this post doing among all these other blatantly different posts?" and then i'm going to say, "hold on a second. you've got it backwards. THIS post is blatantly different, not all the other posts." and then they will say, "oh, i think we know blatantly different when we see it." and then i will say, "trust me on this. i looked up 'blatant' in the dictionary just now, so i know what i'm talking about." and this will go on for a few short weeks until we all, in a selfless and humanitarian act, decice that maybe we should talk about something else for a while. which we will, over light snacks and a pizza or two, culminating in a declaration of our lifelong friendship, in which we will regard this whole episode as a silly misunderstanding, put it all behind us, and sing a few happy choruses of Carole King's "You've Got A Friend." After that, one of my newfound friends, whom i just found out is a very powerful, insistent, and homicidal businessman, will ask me to marry his daughter, and i will have to accept to save the friendship and my life, even though the girl is clearly not my type. she will be six feet tall, with dark eyes, brass knuckles, delusions of grandeur, and attitude. we will fight every day, until push comes to shove, and shove comes to smack on the head with an iron skillet. i will wake up in either heaven or McDonalds. and when i walk through the pearly gates (and/or golden arches) i will trace the recent events back to this very post, and in recognition of my idiocy for writing it, i will slap my hand against my forehead, where the bruise from my recent injury will still be throbbing. that will hurt.
all things considered, i hope no one will mind if i don't write today's post after all.
hello again. today's post is going to be a bit different. people are going to look at this blatantly different post and say, "whoa! what is this post doing among all these other blatantly different posts?" and then i'm going to say, "hold on a second. you've got it backwards. THIS post is blatantly different, not all the other posts." and then they will say, "oh, i think we know blatantly different when we see it." and then i will say, "trust me on this. i looked up 'blatant' in the dictionary just now, so i know what i'm talking about." and this will go on for a few short weeks until we all, in a selfless and humanitarian act, decice that maybe we should talk about something else for a while. which we will, over light snacks and a pizza or two, culminating in a declaration of our lifelong friendship, in which we will regard this whole episode as a silly misunderstanding, put it all behind us, and sing a few happy choruses of Carole King's "You've Got A Friend." After that, one of my newfound friends, whom i just found out is a very powerful, insistent, and homicidal businessman, will ask me to marry his daughter, and i will have to accept to save the friendship and my life, even though the girl is clearly not my type. she will be six feet tall, with dark eyes, brass knuckles, delusions of grandeur, and attitude. we will fight every day, until push comes to shove, and shove comes to smack on the head with an iron skillet. i will wake up in either heaven or McDonalds. and when i walk through the pearly gates (and/or golden arches) i will trace the recent events back to this very post, and in recognition of my idiocy for writing it, i will slap my hand against my forehead, where the bruise from my recent injury will still be throbbing. that will hurt.
all things considered, i hope no one will mind if i don't write today's post after all.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Next Week: She Stole My Dramatic Monologue, So I'm Stealing Her Man!
i’ve been inspired. i hope i don’t get expired. have you ever tried to prepone your birthday? i did this year, but my mom wouldn’t let me. i was trigued. anyway. back to my inspiration. while i was watching my favorite musical talk show, The Phantom of Oprah, i was struck by said inspiration. or maybe it wasn’t The Phantom of Oprah. maybe it was A MidSpringer Night’s Dream, or Swan Ricki Lake. whichever. but i was struck by this inspiration. here it is, in the form of a rhetorical question: why is it that the big-name alarm clock manufacturers are growing hideously and gluttonously richer every day while our nation’s unemployed bagpipe player population sits starving upon its collective butt in the gutter? if this isn’t a true case of social injustice, i don’t know what is. and i know how to rectify it (rectify is a funny word). since you’ve already worked out the solution in your head according to the context clues like the good little fourth-grade-story-problem-solvers you are, i will spare myself the trouble of spelling out the solution and go catch the chilling conclusion of today’s episode of Regis and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
i’ve been inspired. i hope i don’t get expired. have you ever tried to prepone your birthday? i did this year, but my mom wouldn’t let me. i was trigued. anyway. back to my inspiration. while i was watching my favorite musical talk show, The Phantom of Oprah, i was struck by said inspiration. or maybe it wasn’t The Phantom of Oprah. maybe it was A MidSpringer Night’s Dream, or Swan Ricki Lake. whichever. but i was struck by this inspiration. here it is, in the form of a rhetorical question: why is it that the big-name alarm clock manufacturers are growing hideously and gluttonously richer every day while our nation’s unemployed bagpipe player population sits starving upon its collective butt in the gutter? if this isn’t a true case of social injustice, i don’t know what is. and i know how to rectify it (rectify is a funny word). since you’ve already worked out the solution in your head according to the context clues like the good little fourth-grade-story-problem-solvers you are, i will spare myself the trouble of spelling out the solution and go catch the chilling conclusion of today’s episode of Regis and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Day-o, Daaaay-o.. Daylight come and me wanna freak up...
i swear, these posts are getting more elusive and trickerous every day. (trickerous: employing much trickery, may or may not be a word.) let me give you an example of what they have been doing to me. by now there are something like 87 of them, only a few of which i have captured and put on this website. the rest are either breeding inside my head or running loose somewhere, much too untamed to be seen by the general public. so the other day, with little to do and even less to dismember, they got hold of some of that crafty colored straw stuff (crafty colored straw stuff: you know, like they sell in the crafty colored stuff store, may or may not be a technical term for the stuff) and built this effigy of me. it was kind of cute until they set it on fire. even then, it was kind of endearing, in an "oh look, little billy's drawn a picture of me getting my head cut off, the little joker" kind of way. that is, until the embassy burned down and i got sentenced to death. prison isn't too bad. everyone thinks i'm an arsonist, so i just drew a picture of a guy with his butt on fire and i show it to anyone who tries to mess with me. they all pretty much leave me alone. and my posts show up about every day at visiting hours and throw bags of Corn Nuts at me, which i don't think is very funny. (Corn Nuts: fried corn snack fired by frog in previous post, may or may not be trademarked.) even if it wasn't ridiculously obscure, it wouldn't be that funny. so.... write me a letter. send me some snacks. or a jackhammer. or at least something to hold in front of me to block the Corn Nuts. a sled or something. that'd be great.
i swear, these posts are getting more elusive and trickerous every day. (trickerous: employing much trickery, may or may not be a word.) let me give you an example of what they have been doing to me. by now there are something like 87 of them, only a few of which i have captured and put on this website. the rest are either breeding inside my head or running loose somewhere, much too untamed to be seen by the general public. so the other day, with little to do and even less to dismember, they got hold of some of that crafty colored straw stuff (crafty colored straw stuff: you know, like they sell in the crafty colored stuff store, may or may not be a technical term for the stuff) and built this effigy of me. it was kind of cute until they set it on fire. even then, it was kind of endearing, in an "oh look, little billy's drawn a picture of me getting my head cut off, the little joker" kind of way. that is, until the embassy burned down and i got sentenced to death. prison isn't too bad. everyone thinks i'm an arsonist, so i just drew a picture of a guy with his butt on fire and i show it to anyone who tries to mess with me. they all pretty much leave me alone. and my posts show up about every day at visiting hours and throw bags of Corn Nuts at me, which i don't think is very funny. (Corn Nuts: fried corn snack fired by frog in previous post, may or may not be trademarked.) even if it wasn't ridiculously obscure, it wouldn't be that funny. so.... write me a letter. send me some snacks. or a jackhammer. or at least something to hold in front of me to block the Corn Nuts. a sled or something. that'd be great.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
They say that freaking up is hard to do. Now i know, i know that it's true.
today's post fell right out of my head and onto my keyboard. i had to grab it fast before it slithered away, but when i did, it was very slimy. i dropped it on the floor four or five times, and each time it sort of flopped around like a misguided fish while i scrambled for some oven mitts or a spatula or some other implement of capture. by this time there was a considerable puddle of bluish liquid on the floor, about which nobody was very happy. finally the solution hit me, like an aggravated pigeon. i went and fetched the posthole digger. i was no idiot. i dug a posthole, and in the prescribed 3 to 100 hours, there was the post, lying at the bottom of the hole like a lump of coal at the bottom of not my christmas stocking, because i've always been a good little boy. so i picked it up, brushed off the dirt, gave it clarinet lessons, and slapped it on the internet where it belongs, and where i hope it will become good friends with all of you. care for my post. it's got a good heart.
today's post fell right out of my head and onto my keyboard. i had to grab it fast before it slithered away, but when i did, it was very slimy. i dropped it on the floor four or five times, and each time it sort of flopped around like a misguided fish while i scrambled for some oven mitts or a spatula or some other implement of capture. by this time there was a considerable puddle of bluish liquid on the floor, about which nobody was very happy. finally the solution hit me, like an aggravated pigeon. i went and fetched the posthole digger. i was no idiot. i dug a posthole, and in the prescribed 3 to 100 hours, there was the post, lying at the bottom of the hole like a lump of coal at the bottom of not my christmas stocking, because i've always been a good little boy. so i picked it up, brushed off the dirt, gave it clarinet lessons, and slapped it on the internet where it belongs, and where i hope it will become good friends with all of you. care for my post. it's got a good heart.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
and Hollywood was never the same
all right, let's see here... where did i put that post? it was around here somewhere... i swear it was! hm. grrr, i hate when that happens. i had the best post written for you guys. it was seriously the funniest thing on the face of the earth, and that's not just me being modest. now it's all gone, and i'm left with nothing but my dreams, my good health, several billion dollars, a phD, many close friends, a boat, enough food to live comfortably for the rest of my life, and ownership of the larger part of the galaxy. what a drag. i'm sorry, you guys, i'm just going to have to make up a new post on the spot, and i can almost guarantee it won't be as funny as the one i lost. you don't even have to read it if you don't want. i mean, i don't even care.
the following is based partly upon an actual exchange that took place in a grocery between a talking oyster and my aunt. certain names have been changed to protect the innocent.
(narrator's voice) she walked down the aisle like nothing was out of the ordinary and like she wasn't wearing two assorted low-fat cheesecakes on her head. in a weird coincidence, she wasn't wearing two assorted low-fat cheesecakes on her head. she picked up an oyster and it soon began to talk to her, like it was less of an oyster and more of a talk-show host (it wasn't.) the conversation followed thus:
oyster: you hate me, don't you?
my aunt: what? i don't know what you're talking about!
oyster: i can tell by the look in your eyes that you just despise me. ooh, you just want to squeeeeze my guts out with one or possibly two fists, depending on the strength of your grip.
my aunt: i don't know what would give you such an idea! we've never even met before!
oyster: i can tell by your countenance and the family heritage inferred thereby that you have a latent predisposition to squish me.
my aunt: you're making this up! i have no quarrel with oysters, i swear!
oyster: i can tell by your "I Hate Oysters" t-shirt that you rather dislike my company.
this went on for several days and was overwhelmingly boring. if i hadn't been there filming it for my new movie which i am directing and also wrote myself, i probably would have left. so instead of ending with a traditional conclusion, i will implore you to go see "OysterAunt 5: The First One In The Series That Might Get Finished" in a theater near you. a theater near you, i say!
all right, let's see here... where did i put that post? it was around here somewhere... i swear it was! hm. grrr, i hate when that happens. i had the best post written for you guys. it was seriously the funniest thing on the face of the earth, and that's not just me being modest. now it's all gone, and i'm left with nothing but my dreams, my good health, several billion dollars, a phD, many close friends, a boat, enough food to live comfortably for the rest of my life, and ownership of the larger part of the galaxy. what a drag. i'm sorry, you guys, i'm just going to have to make up a new post on the spot, and i can almost guarantee it won't be as funny as the one i lost. you don't even have to read it if you don't want. i mean, i don't even care.
the following is based partly upon an actual exchange that took place in a grocery between a talking oyster and my aunt. certain names have been changed to protect the innocent.
(narrator's voice) she walked down the aisle like nothing was out of the ordinary and like she wasn't wearing two assorted low-fat cheesecakes on her head. in a weird coincidence, she wasn't wearing two assorted low-fat cheesecakes on her head. she picked up an oyster and it soon began to talk to her, like it was less of an oyster and more of a talk-show host (it wasn't.) the conversation followed thus:
oyster: you hate me, don't you?
my aunt: what? i don't know what you're talking about!
oyster: i can tell by the look in your eyes that you just despise me. ooh, you just want to squeeeeze my guts out with one or possibly two fists, depending on the strength of your grip.
my aunt: i don't know what would give you such an idea! we've never even met before!
oyster: i can tell by your countenance and the family heritage inferred thereby that you have a latent predisposition to squish me.
my aunt: you're making this up! i have no quarrel with oysters, i swear!
oyster: i can tell by your "I Hate Oysters" t-shirt that you rather dislike my company.
this went on for several days and was overwhelmingly boring. if i hadn't been there filming it for my new movie which i am directing and also wrote myself, i probably would have left. so instead of ending with a traditional conclusion, i will implore you to go see "OysterAunt 5: The First One In The Series That Might Get Finished" in a theater near you. a theater near you, i say!
Friday, September 05, 2003
Pronouncing it Wronger Every Day
welcome back to bensaki.blogspot.com, the only blog that consistently talks about itself in every post. i tell you, it's been hard busting out quality posts for a solid five days. so hard, in fact, that i've become compelled to write a blues song about it. i trust you all know the classic blues riff that consists of root, fourth, minor third, root, and is usually played in between growled phrases such as "well my baby done left me" or "well i've got amnesia" or some such sorrowful, longing remarks. that riff will here be represented by the phonetic phrase "da neewww na newt" and will be interlaced with my poetic angst. sing the riff to yourself, or hire a friend to perform it for you, perhaps on the guitar or harmonica, then imagine me growling the lyrics in between. imagination: it's even better than mp3s, but not nearly as compatible with most operating systems. okay, got your impromtu blues ensemble together? here we go. it's called "the oh crap is life ever hard since i started writing this blog because now i have to take twenty minutes out of every day to think of something funny even though half the time i can't think of anything funny and i don't know how to use html so my site looks all dumb blues." hope you enjoy it.
da neewww na newt
well i've got this here weblog
da neewww na newt
that drives me nuts
da neewww na newt
said i've got this here weblog
da neewww na newt
that smells like nuts
da neewww na newt
and what happens if someone
da neewww na newt
is allergic to nuts?
da neewww na newt
if they come to my weblog
da neewww na newt
man that would be nuuuuuuts... woh woh woh woooooh
da neewww na newt
well i sit on my laptop
da neewww na newt
twenty minutes a day
da neewww na newt
and then when i try to use it
da neewww na newt
it's been crushed by the enormous weight of my bootay
da neewww na newt
and then when i think of
da neewww na newt
something to post
da neewww na newt
it seems like i always
da neewww na newt
get this craving for toast
da neewww na newt
this craving for toast!
da neewww na newt
this craving for toast!
da neewww na newt
lawd, where is that toast?
da neewww na newt
gotta get me some TOOOOOOOAST!!!!!
*tight little blues lick ending*
man, that song rocked. i hope you experienced it the way i did. hear what i heard. feel what i felt. oh man, i'm gonna go get some toast.
welcome back to bensaki.blogspot.com, the only blog that consistently talks about itself in every post. i tell you, it's been hard busting out quality posts for a solid five days. so hard, in fact, that i've become compelled to write a blues song about it. i trust you all know the classic blues riff that consists of root, fourth, minor third, root, and is usually played in between growled phrases such as "well my baby done left me" or "well i've got amnesia" or some such sorrowful, longing remarks. that riff will here be represented by the phonetic phrase "da neewww na newt" and will be interlaced with my poetic angst. sing the riff to yourself, or hire a friend to perform it for you, perhaps on the guitar or harmonica, then imagine me growling the lyrics in between. imagination: it's even better than mp3s, but not nearly as compatible with most operating systems. okay, got your impromtu blues ensemble together? here we go. it's called "the oh crap is life ever hard since i started writing this blog because now i have to take twenty minutes out of every day to think of something funny even though half the time i can't think of anything funny and i don't know how to use html so my site looks all dumb blues." hope you enjoy it.
da neewww na newt
well i've got this here weblog
da neewww na newt
that drives me nuts
da neewww na newt
said i've got this here weblog
da neewww na newt
that smells like nuts
da neewww na newt
and what happens if someone
da neewww na newt
is allergic to nuts?
da neewww na newt
if they come to my weblog
da neewww na newt
man that would be nuuuuuuts... woh woh woh woooooh
da neewww na newt
well i sit on my laptop
da neewww na newt
twenty minutes a day
da neewww na newt
and then when i try to use it
da neewww na newt
it's been crushed by the enormous weight of my bootay
da neewww na newt
and then when i think of
da neewww na newt
something to post
da neewww na newt
it seems like i always
da neewww na newt
get this craving for toast
da neewww na newt
this craving for toast!
da neewww na newt
this craving for toast!
da neewww na newt
lawd, where is that toast?
da neewww na newt
gotta get me some TOOOOOOOAST!!!!!
*tight little blues lick ending*
man, that song rocked. i hope you experienced it the way i did. hear what i heard. feel what i felt. oh man, i'm gonna go get some toast.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Esophagus.
as you can imagine, i had a bit of trouble recovering from that last post. it was almost like i got hit in the face by a post. and when i say that, i don't mean a post like you'd post on the internet, but like an actual post, maybe a fencepost, maybe made of wood, that sort of thing. yeah. anyway, i did have a bit of trouble recovering from that last post. the frog sort of had a problem with authority and ended up lashing out in a kind of adolescent rage that resulted in several very stylish accidental body piercings on my part. lucky for me, i live on a college campus. unlucky for me, they totally confiscated my frog. so no more posts that ferocious until my shipment from central africa arrives... two words: venomous snakes. are what are in the shipment. so watch out.
anyway, now that i've recovered from yesterday's post, it's time for a brand new post. this isn't even going to be like yesterday's post. well, except it'll be written in the same language. and on the same computer. and by the same person. and i guess it'll be the same color as yesterday's post. and the same font. and it'll follow the same train of thought to nowheresville. come to think of it, it'll practically BE yesterday's post. crap. at this rate, this blog's gonna get old really fast.
as you can imagine, i had a bit of trouble recovering from that last post. it was almost like i got hit in the face by a post. and when i say that, i don't mean a post like you'd post on the internet, but like an actual post, maybe a fencepost, maybe made of wood, that sort of thing. yeah. anyway, i did have a bit of trouble recovering from that last post. the frog sort of had a problem with authority and ended up lashing out in a kind of adolescent rage that resulted in several very stylish accidental body piercings on my part. lucky for me, i live on a college campus. unlucky for me, they totally confiscated my frog. so no more posts that ferocious until my shipment from central africa arrives... two words: venomous snakes. are what are in the shipment. so watch out.
anyway, now that i've recovered from yesterday's post, it's time for a brand new post. this isn't even going to be like yesterday's post. well, except it'll be written in the same language. and on the same computer. and by the same person. and i guess it'll be the same color as yesterday's post. and the same font. and it'll follow the same train of thought to nowheresville. come to think of it, it'll practically BE yesterday's post. crap. at this rate, this blog's gonna get old really fast.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
When you get that freaked-up look in your eyes...
today's post owns the National Baseball League. you cannot reproduce a recording of a baseball game without the express written consent of this post. that's how much this post owns. seriously. i'm not gonna let you down like i did yesterday with that crap about nutmeg. man, what was i thinking? today's post is so much better... it's like, yesterday's post was a tadpole, and today's is a full-on frog, complete with bulging throat sac and upgraded croaking capabilities. this frog is maxed out, i'm telling you. it can jump three hundred feet without batting an eye. and i rigged it up some mechanical wings and a machine gun that shoots Corn-Nuts... this thing's gonna divebomb your entire town before you even see it. lock your doors. i'll tell you what, don't even bother locking your doors. it's not even worth it. these Corn-Nuts go so fast, it's like *bzzzzzzzz -- pting!* LOCK BROKEN!! no, you'd be better off running for your lives. better yet, driving for your lives. except NO! the frog's got you there too! it's got radar! plus a cell phone with a direct line to every cop in the state! that thing catches you speeding and you've got cops all over you so fast you'll be like, "whoa! that frog is menacing!" it's got you in every direction, so don't even try. crap, this is gonna rule.
today's post owns the National Baseball League. you cannot reproduce a recording of a baseball game without the express written consent of this post. that's how much this post owns. seriously. i'm not gonna let you down like i did yesterday with that crap about nutmeg. man, what was i thinking? today's post is so much better... it's like, yesterday's post was a tadpole, and today's is a full-on frog, complete with bulging throat sac and upgraded croaking capabilities. this frog is maxed out, i'm telling you. it can jump three hundred feet without batting an eye. and i rigged it up some mechanical wings and a machine gun that shoots Corn-Nuts... this thing's gonna divebomb your entire town before you even see it. lock your doors. i'll tell you what, don't even bother locking your doors. it's not even worth it. these Corn-Nuts go so fast, it's like *bzzzzzzzz -- pting!* LOCK BROKEN!! no, you'd be better off running for your lives. better yet, driving for your lives. except NO! the frog's got you there too! it's got radar! plus a cell phone with a direct line to every cop in the state! that thing catches you speeding and you've got cops all over you so fast you'll be like, "whoa! that frog is menacing!" it's got you in every direction, so don't even try. crap, this is gonna rule.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
Take Back the Night, Freak Back the Day
stand back, everybody, because i'm about to cut loose with the most ferocious post since the electric disco fencepost - a post so radiant and maniacal it will burn your eyes! it's about nutmeg. yes. nutmeg makes the world go 'round. if it doesn't, it at least doesn't prevent the world from going 'round, which is good enough for me.
so here we go. nutmeg in your face. nutmeg to the max. sixteen megs on a nutmeg's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of nutmeg. ok, i admit it. i got nothing. send me some nutmeg, or these posts might never get better.
stand back, everybody, because i'm about to cut loose with the most ferocious post since the electric disco fencepost - a post so radiant and maniacal it will burn your eyes! it's about nutmeg. yes. nutmeg makes the world go 'round. if it doesn't, it at least doesn't prevent the world from going 'round, which is good enough for me.
so here we go. nutmeg in your face. nutmeg to the max. sixteen megs on a nutmeg's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of nutmeg. ok, i admit it. i got nothing. send me some nutmeg, or these posts might never get better.
Monday, September 01, 2003
If ducklings are baby ducks, then dumplings are...
are you mad? that's the topic of today's glorious post. yes, today i have a glorious post. congratulations on your patience for waiting an entire day for gloriousness. gloriosity. glory. whatever. i am now making up a quiz that will help you determine whether you are angrier than you should be.
question one.
in the last eleven thousand days, have you written any hate mail?
a)no
b)yes.
c)i'm not that old. at least, i think i'm not that old. let me get a calculator.
question two.
no. you do not have time to get a calculator. come back here now.
a)ok, i'll come back.
b)no! i'm getting a calculator, and there's nothing you can do about it!
c)this 'question two' was totally not a question. i'm on to you.
question three.
ok, so question two wasn't a question. what are you gonna do about it?
a)nothing! that's fine, man, it's your quiz, i mean, whatever.
b)i'll tell you what i'm gonna do about it! in my next response!
c)when are we going to get back to real questions?
question four.
right now. in the last eleven thousand days, have you written anything that rhymes with 'crate mail'?
a)no
b)yes
c)i think i can see where this is going, so... can we just end it already?
i suppose. now for the scoring. give yourself one point for every 'a' response, two points for every 'b' response, and half a dumpling for every 'c' response. the points are good toward a trade-in on tomorrow's post. and the half-a-dumplings are excellent in soup. especially half a soup. mmmmmm. half a soup.
(credits to the kids of johnny okay for today's title)
are you mad? that's the topic of today's glorious post. yes, today i have a glorious post. congratulations on your patience for waiting an entire day for gloriousness. gloriosity. glory. whatever. i am now making up a quiz that will help you determine whether you are angrier than you should be.
question one.
in the last eleven thousand days, have you written any hate mail?
a)no
b)yes.
c)i'm not that old. at least, i think i'm not that old. let me get a calculator.
question two.
no. you do not have time to get a calculator. come back here now.
a)ok, i'll come back.
b)no! i'm getting a calculator, and there's nothing you can do about it!
c)this 'question two' was totally not a question. i'm on to you.
question three.
ok, so question two wasn't a question. what are you gonna do about it?
a)nothing! that's fine, man, it's your quiz, i mean, whatever.
b)i'll tell you what i'm gonna do about it! in my next response!
c)when are we going to get back to real questions?
question four.
right now. in the last eleven thousand days, have you written anything that rhymes with 'crate mail'?
a)no
b)yes
c)i think i can see where this is going, so... can we just end it already?
i suppose. now for the scoring. give yourself one point for every 'a' response, two points for every 'b' response, and half a dumpling for every 'c' response. the points are good toward a trade-in on tomorrow's post. and the half-a-dumplings are excellent in soup. especially half a soup. mmmmmm. half a soup.
(credits to the kids of johnny okay for today's title)
