freak up your day

some new year's resolutions

1. write more often (the blame still rests on christmas break... i just haven't been on the computer in like a week)

2. breathe more

4. fight crime

5. fight creme

6. fight chrome

6. learn to count

7. freak up your day

"So the sno-cone guy ran into the hot dog stand today." "Was anyone hurt?" "No, it was just a vendor-bender."

After weeks of intense research into the history of this particular section of December, I have come to the conclusion that 'tis the season to be jolly. Now that I have donned the appropriate apparel, I will bust open the old mailbag and proceed with the Holiday Edition (yes, I have to do Holiday Editions of everything) of Ask Bensaki(tm). And we will jingle all the way.

First letter:

Dear Bensaki,

I am a chestnut. While I fully accept the eventuality that I will be roasted upon an open fire, I wish to make it known that I have been roasted once before, a fact that has sadly escaped the folks dressed up like Eskimos (Inuit people). I do not wish to undergo a second roasting, and I implore your advice on avoiding such an unnecessary and painful proceeding. My gratitude is politely extended to you.

In good faith,
Chester the Unfortunately Named Nut

Dear Chester,

As everybody knows, a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright. They do not, unfortunately, help the situation of a preroasted chestnut. You may just have to take one for the team. However, I have heard that chestnuts possess immense chest capacities. If you were to temporarily inhale a vast amount of egg nog, perhaps you could douse the open fire. Best of luck, and happy holidays.

Bensaki

P.S: Who knows, maybe they misheard the lyrics and will accidentally toast you with an open bottle of champagne? It happened to me once. Except when I misheard the lyrics, they were "Chestnuts boasting of an opening in the fire department staff." Don't ask me why.

Second letter:

Dear Bensaki,

We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year. Now bring us some figgy pudding. Now bring us some figgy pudding. Now bring us some figgy pudding, and bring it out here.

Sincerely,
Carol Ers

P.S: Take this as fair warning: We won't go until we get some.

Dear Carol,

Would you settle for some bean dip? Would you settle for some bean dip? Would you settle for some bean dip, or a can of root beer? My cat ate the figgy pudding. My cat ate the figgy pudding. My cat ate the figgy pudding, and she puked in my ear.

Merrily,
Bensaki

Third letter:

Dear Bensaki,

We have met on several occasions before. I am the Ghost of Bad Christmas Jokes. Unlike Ebenezer Scrooge, you have failed to learn your lesson. Year after year, you continue to make wisecracks about decking halls, feasts of Stephen, and that blasted ever-present figgy pudding. Nobody needs more Christmas puns. This year must be the last that you festoon your surroundings with the sounds of horrendous wordplay, or I will personally drop you down the longest chimney I can find.

Menacingly,
The Ghost of Bad Christmas Jokes

Dear GBCJ,

You don't frighten me. I let nothing me dismay. There's no fa la la la law against bad jokes anyway. Where's your Christmas spirit? Drop me down a chimney if you must, but I warn you: You'd better watch out. I don't believe I need to tell you why.

Bensaki

P.S: In the meadow I can build a snowman. Let's pretend that he's a spiteful ghost. We'll construct a fire for Mr. Snowman. And this one won't need chestnuts for a roast. Muwa ha ha.

***
That brings us to the end of today's festivities. The Christmas jokes will never stop, as long as I have anything to say about it. Merry Christmas, everyone, and keep it on the holly jolly.

What is he doing??

Totally awesome post tomorrow, you guys. I promise. Break has turned out to be busier (lame excuse) than expected. Whatever.

Toast?

Bathrobe donned and vanilla Coke in hand, let the freaking begin!

I was thinking about paper towels the other day. Not really "thinking about;" more like "talking to." Well, not really "talking to;" more like "staring longingly into the eyes of." But in the process of that, I realized something. Not really "realized;" more like "suddenly felt." Well, not really "suddenly felt;" more like "got hit full in the face by." It was a stink bomb. Not really "stink;" more like "cherry." Well, not really "cherry;" more like "atom." I fell to my knees. Not really "my knees;" more like "the ground." Well, not really "the ground;" more like "the bottom of an immense crater." There I met a race of superintelligent, friendly moles. Not really "superintelligent, friendly;" more like "superintelligent, hostile." Well, not really "superintelligent, hostile;" more like "supernerdy, homicidal." They bit me. Not really "me;" more like "their nails in terror at my steely gaze and monstrously overpowering physique." Well, not really "their nails in terror at my steely gaze and monstrously overpowering physique;" more like "the bullet and tied me up over a sputtering cauldron of molten earwax." I had no chance of escaping. Not really "no chance of;" more like "a little difficulty in." Well, not really "a little difficulty in;" more like "no qualms about immediately." I stole their secret weapon, a flaming marshmallow gun, which i ruthlessly slaughtered them all with. Not really "ruthlessly slaughtered them all with;" more like "threatened them by fearlessly brandishing." Well, not really "threatened them by fearlessly brandishing;" more like "totally shot myself in the face with." I woke up a few days later in front of this computer with no memory of what had just happened. Not really "in front of this computer with no memory of what had just happened;" more like "in the gutter with fifty cents and a glow-in-the-dark ping-pong ball." Well, not really "in the gutter with fifty cents and a glow-in-the-dark ping-pong ball;" more like "in my bed with a totally lame idea for a story." And you just heard it. Not really "heard;" more like "read." Well, not really "read;" more like "probably ignored."

Yeah, well you're a dork too.

Saturday Night Freakup

Isral and i are co-writing today's post. So there.

My friends, here follows the tale of the origins of THE Disco
Jesus™.

So this one time in the days of yore, this guy was looking for a
nickel. His head down, he was all but watching where he was going, and he
stubbed his toe upon the Electric Disco Fencepost! Fency was in a good
mood that day, so in his vast electricity and discocity, he granted the
chap wishes three.

He thought for a long while.

"For my first wish," began Chap, "I want a nickel. That's what I was
looking for in the first place."

Three bright flashes of pyrotechnics and one feverish dance number later, Chap looked down and saw Thomas Jefferson in a leisure suit and a discotheque called Monticello in the palm of his hand. While this wasn't quite the nickel he had imagined, and he wasn't sure it would even pass as a video game token, it was still a free nickel, and, hey, who was he to complain?

"Well, then. About this second wish. I would like you to smite mine
enemy Bloke with unspekable illness and plague for the countless ways
he has wronged me, including but not limited to last Tuesday when I was
kicking a tin can down the sidewalk and he picked it up and recycled
it. Smite him good, I say!"

In the distance, a pulsing dance beat began. Bloke strutted past in
all his glitz and glam, bedecked with polyester from head to toe. It
became unsettlingly clear that he had been smitten with Saturday Night
Fever. Continuing his prance down the sidewalk, jabbing his index
finger skyward and back by turns, he was eventually arrested for poking
an innocent bystander in the face repeatedly.

A sudden look of realization came over Chap's face. He recognized that,
much to his musical disgust and horror, his every wish had been turned
into an 80's dance disaster. He then decided to use his last wish
strategically, to foil the Electric Disco Fencepost.

"I have been selfish," he said. "I have forgotten about the needs of
others. In these days of hard rock hatred, heavy metal despair, and
hip-hop animosity, what this world really needs is an electric disco
saviour."

The room went dark, save for one spinning disco ball. And hanging from
that disco ball, framed in splendor and moving to the beat, was THE
Disco Jesus™. A holographic picture in a gilded frame, illuminated by a heavenly 15-watt glow from above, THE Disco Jesus boogied in the garden of Gethsemane, alternately dropping to his knees and lifting his hands to the sky, depending on your angle of viewing.

Chap was so overcome by joy and the urge to watch Miami Vice that he dropped to his knees and wept.

Epilogue

Some days later, when Chap was old and grey, he decided that he should
share the splendor of his holographic heavenly father with the rest of
the world. After much thought and calculation, carefully weighed against
the senility that had crept into his mind since the days of yore, he
decided that the best way to share THE Disco Jesus™ was to hold
a sale of garage-like proportions in which the first soul to fully
appreciate the holographic, gold-framed, lit-up glory of his prize
could buy it for the reasonable price of $1.50. Lucky for us, the
co-authors of this very post were on the scene in minutes, Devious,
'Riah, Dan Webber, and possibly Mr. Robert Fontecchio at thier sides.
They immediately saw the treasure that is THE Disco Jesus™,
recognized it for the prize it truly is, and snatched it from the
Gollum-like clutches of Chap.

THE Disco Jesus™ has since faded in and out of legend and lore, but
many, including the authors of this post, believe that he's still out
there, dancing his two framed dance of grace and mercy (even if it is
in Devious' basement.)

Typos Make the World Go Dround

The times they are a-changing. I have recently posted only once every two days, due to a compound of finals week, vaccination carnivals, strange and unfriendly bread pudding, shipping and handling, tainted lox, and inflammatory gum wrapper disease. This is soon to change, as i fully intend to start posting daily again. In a couple of days. Until then, i betcha you'll probably see that collaborative post later on tonight. But don't get your hopes up too high or nothing.

I still want a hula hoop.

College is a funny place. I keep seeing these sweatshirts that say things like "North Basketball" and i think, "Hey, he went to North?" And then i say, "Oh... yeah. That could be Anywhere North." I'm not sure everyone who gets accepted into college really deserves to be there.

In other news, I received this letter today from an unconfident entrepreneur who seeks my advice on matters vital to his future success. I'm still not sure how to answer it, but I'll let you take a look, and maybe you'll know what to tell this guy.

Dear Bensaki,

I desperately want to cash in on the new janitorial craze that is sweeping the nation. I am going to open a school for janitors, custodians, maids, and anyone who dreams of holding a dust rag. The trouble is, I'm torn between two excellent names for my institute. Should I call it "University of Dishwashington" or "Land of Mopportunity?" Knowing you to be the nation's top expert in this sort of thing, I have written to urgently request your unerring guidance. I await your reply atop a tall ladder in front of my building, hammer and chisel in hand.

Most likely, I remain
Shoeshine Todd

P.S: Please hurry. The school opens in half an hour.

As you can see, I am quite at a loss. University of Dishwashington? Land of Mopportunity? I fear for my career if this man had chosen to become a writer instead of a district scrubberintendent.

Dashing through the snow on a flimsy plastic disc... down the hill we go, sled at your own risk...

It's that mid-December mayhem again, and I'm in the Christmas spirit up to my earlobes. Fa la la. So in that spirit, I am reinstating my classic segment "It Would Rule If..." This is a holiday version, in case you are a philanthropic genie of a humanitarian lamp and you want to make my Christmas wishes come true. It is the most wonderful time of the year, after all. So before the mice stop stirring, i give you this joyous segment.

It would rule if...

-it snowed buttercream frosting and I had a giant graham cracker sled.

-it were Christmas every day except the entire month of August, which would be Cinco de Mayo.

-I had one horse, an open sleigh, lots of fields to go o'er, and something to laugh at all the way.

-my name were Carol of the Bells... or better yet, Roger of the Bells.

-I could make these sugar plums dance in places other than my head, such as a Broadway musical like you've never seen before.

-all the good little boys and girls were paid a visit by Jolly Old Saint Trevor, the patron saint of awesome haircuts.

-the stockings were hung by the chimney with Cher.

-my Christmas tree would finally start bearing Christmas fruit.

-I had lots of Christmas presents, Christmas pheasants, and maybe one or two Christmas peasants.

-there could be pizza on earth, and no bill toward men.

Now, i know it's still a couple weeks before that happy holiday, but this just gives you plenty of time to work on practical solutions to these items on my wish list. Have yourself a cup of cheer already.

It's Grape-o-nade now, fools!

I have to make it short today, because it's the most beautiful day of the entire year and i am totally going sledding. Move to Minnesota.

Anyway, today i'd like to conduct a little Q&A, an FAQ if you will, or a QED. OK? Good. Now, these aren't actual Freakuently Asked Questions™, but they're questions that i imagine somebody might ask someday. Let's get started.

Q: Why is there a tattoo on my back? I never got a tattoo on my back.

A: Well, you have to consider the possibilities. Is it possible that you're married to a midnight tattoo artist? Is the brand name of your bed Ink-O-Matic? Do you have a habit of scratching your back with a pen? Any one of these might explain it.

Q: Are they ever going to bring back the funk?

A: As far as i know, it was never gone.

Q: I'm a newspaper headline writer. A plane carrying desserts recently lost its cargo somewhere over Ohio. Should my headline read "Pie in the Sky" or "Flying Torte-ress?"

A: I'd go with "Wild Blueberry Yonder" if i were you, but if you can pull off something with "Strudel," you'll be my hero.

Q: Have we come to the end of the captivating Question and Answer session?

A: Yes. But your captivity is still in place. Don't think you can get out that easily.

Turn the other freak

Ice cube rebellions are easily crushed, but when playing cards decide to stick together, they're really hard to deal with.

Don't believe me? Ask me again.

It's lunchtime, and where am I? That's right. Not at lunch. Because I am dedicated to bringing you the freak every single (and by "single," i mean "other") day. It may cost me my life, or a hundred dollars, or my very soul and a piece of gum, but I will freak up your day at any cost, including festooning myself with orchids and splattering the walls of my room with liver paste, if (heaven forbid) it should ever come to that. Once a monk came up to me while i was scuba diving and asked me to join his monastic order, which promises all its members the power to fly, the latest and most stylish imported loose-fitting robes, and a lifetime subscription to the Nachos of the Month club. Needless to say, I was quite drawn to the idea, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "blub blub blub." The first thing that came out of my mouth after I was out of the water was, "Will it interfere with my sacred day-freaking duties?" He replied, "Do not worry about that. Your responsibility is only to yourself, and the days of your readers are not your concern, be they freaked up or not." When he uttered that sentence, I knew he was a messenger of evil, and so I punched him. Just as I suspected, he said something to the effect of "How dare you punch a messenger of evil!" and walked off in a huff. Triumphant, i treated myself to a five gallon slushie.

The freaking up of your day IS my responsibility, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

(a side note: the collaborative post by Isral and me is still coming; the delay is due to the time zone change between the Central Time Zone and a different part of the Central Time Zone.)

Mushroomies®: The Breakfast of Champignons

The smell of disillusionment wafted through the air. Roger caught a whiff and thought, "Hmmm, something's not right here." He got up from his armhair armchair and walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, the smell was coming from the onion soup, which was not nearly as savory as he had once dreamed it could be. This sort of thing had been happening to him too often lately, and this latest occurrence was more than he could take. He strode to the window, flung it open, pitched the pot of soup right out, and yelled above the screams of the now-burnt crowds below, "Enough! I'm tired of things not turning out the way I wanted them to! The Penguin's Curse must be broken!"

Some background, I suppose, is needed here. A few years previous, Roger had been the propietor of Antarctica's first chili diner. His divine recipe, with its tender meat, tasty broth, firm pasta, and unforgettable blend of spices that packed a punch and kept you coming back for more, was a favorite of research scientists and wildlife for miles around. But the out-of-this-world taste available only at Roger's was the object of intense hatred and jealousy from the greatest penguin witch doctor in history, Karen. She would come to the diner every day, never ordering anything, and she would sit in a booth in the corner and brood, shooting hateful glances over the counter at Roger. He knew she had some sort of problem with him, but he didn't want to bring it up, since she looked so forbidding and was a penguin. On the day he premiered his new "Glacier-melting Hot" recipe, something happened that let him know he had crossed the line. He walked into the kitchen to check on the soup, and when he looked into the cauldron, there was a large penguin sitting there in place of the chili! His first thought, of course, was that the penguin had eaten his entire batch, but upon closer inspection, it was actually a penguin-shaped culinary effigy! Before his eyes, the penguin melted into the blandest-tasting puddle of disappointment Roger had ever set tongue on. From that day on, Roger could make no more chili without the same sinister goop magically replacing it. He was forced to close up shop, move back to the states, and get a job extracting peanut chunks from chunky peanut butter to make smooth. But every single day after work, he tried to shake the Penguin's Curse, branching out into different varieties of soup, even going as far as fondue, spaghetti sauce, and on one occasion, a pot of boiling water with a chunk of styrofoam in it. But every recipe wound up the same, until the day it came to a head.

"The Penguin's Curse must be broken!" screamed Roger to the cold grey sky outside his apartment window. And without warning, Karen floated up from the ground below to Roger's third story and looked him in the eye. Timmy himself stopped moving. The two stared at each other for an excruciating eight minutes, silent and cold as two glaciers. Electricity crackled in the air between them. "Fine!" Roger shouted at last. "You can have your Tupperware bowl back! I'm sorry I borrowed the stupid thing in the first place!"

They say that 20 years after Roger died, the sidewalks still tasted like chili.

I'm busy with non-freaking-related writing today, so there won't be any post. Unless you want me to post my french paper for everybody to read... how hilarious would that be? (Answer: as 'x' approaches zero.) Go check out Isral's post from Monday. It's pretty hilarious. Unless you are Isral, in which case you should check out... um... a library book. Sorry. That's all i've got. See you tomorrow.

I took the email.. to the market.. and I bought it some kind of fish sauce..
(title brought to you by the baddest Strong around)

Wow. Finally, a new post. It's been like a week. That's ridiculous. I apologize. Still waiting on that collaboration, but for now I think I have enough freakage up my sleeve to freak up one day. And maybe even... TWO days! Whoa...

So I finally figured out the problem with rotting flowers. They're DEAD. If they were alive, they probably wouldn't be rotting. I guess I should have figured that out a long time ago, but really, you never stop learning, even when your brain gets eaten. It's true.

I'll give you an example: There was a guy I used to know who didn't know that bacon was made of meat. He thought he was a vegetarian. He used to go over to friends' houses on the Festival of St. Bacon for the traditional scrumptious feast, and they would be all surprised and say, "Hey, I thought you didn't eat bacon." Then he would recoil with equal surprise and respond, "Me? Not eat bacon? Think you? Why, the very idea reduces me to sentence fragments!" So they would just assume he had recanted his vegetarian ways, and they wouldn't pursue the issue. So he never found out about the bacon thing. But then one day he was hanging out in the dog food aisle at the grocery store, when an alien walked up to him and ate his brain. It was ironic, because the alien thought he was a vegetarian too. But like I said before, you never stop learning. This guy looked down at a box of fake bacon (facon?) that dogs supposedly fall for because they think it's real. The box said "Contains no meat" and the guy thought, "Well, of course it contains no meat. Real bacon doesn't even... ohhhhhhh." He was pretty sharp for a guy whose brain had just been eaten.

Then there was a girl I knew back in kindergarten. She always insisted that glue sticks were "the bananas of the future." The rest of us tried to set her straight, but the more she ate, the less receptive her mind was to reasonable thought. Finally, she learned a lesson I would remember for the rest of my life. Old-fashioned bananas may not be futuristic, but at least they don't stick your hand to the inside of your mouth and fertilize a new civilization of fungus.

Finally, I once knew an older fellow who had learned something new every day of his life. He wrote down each day's lesson in a book, then sold the book to me so I could benefit from his years of wisdom. And I'll tell you what: I certainly did learn a lot of helpful things. Several thousand helpful things. I'll tell you the first ten lessons I learned, in the order I learned them, and you should be able to figure out the rest.

1. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
2. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
3. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
4. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
5. A book entitled What I Learned Today by a man with short-term memory loss is not worth your money.
6. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
7. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
8. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
9. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.
10. Never eat anything in the refrigerator that reminds you of your childhood.

So you see, it's true. You never stop learning, even if your brain has been eaten. Or if you keep on eating the same leftover brain you've had sitting around since you were a kid. Or if you can't stop talking about brains getting eaten. Stay in school, kids. Don't let your brain get eaten.

I've got your snappy comeback... right here!

Watch for a new post in the near future co-authored by me and a certain Isral Debruin. Rumor has it that post's gonna rule.

Remember when times were simpler and we used to wonder things like "What if plants came to life?" and "Does pudding have feelings too?"