freak up your day

Have you ever sat down and thought to yourself: What is the future of retro?

Freak up, I can't hear you.

Welcome to a few sentences by way of introduction. If someone takes a picture of you they steal your soul, but if you take a picture of yourself you can steal it back. Of course, then all you have is the negative of your soul. So if your soul is feeling negative, you just have to go into a dark room for a while.

Okay, so the words of introduction turned into the entire post. Well, that's alright.

The further adventures of Glensaki

Wow, so that was awesome just now. Let me tell you what just happened.

Last night there was a violent thunderstorm. It was such a violent thunderstorm, in fact, that the Association of Meteorologists and Amateur Weather Enthusiasts Everywhere (AMAWEE) deemed it worthy of a name and an entry in the record books. They named it Thunderstorm Calculus Take-Home Test. And this kid i know, Glensaki, was caught in the worst of it. Somehow, he had to conquer the storm and arrive safely at home. But conquering this storm was not easy. There were problems. There were four very involved problems. Kensaki had to solve these problems before 9:00 in the morning, or he would surely fail. To get home before 9:00, that is. Did i say Kensaki? I meant Gwensaki. Glensaki. Alright, fine, it was me. So what? Anyway, Glensaki spied shelter behind a nearby rock and longed to rest his head for a while, but he knew he must eschew sleep and press on. He braved the lightning that flashed before his eyes like glimpses of differential equations he had long since forgotten. He staggered through the thunderous thunder that thundered in his head like plundered underwear. He shielded himself from the sting of the acid rain that would have been more appropriate for a story about a chemistry test. Finally he arrived, breathless yet deathless, at the front door, only to find out that thing wasn't even due until flipping 2:30 in the afternoon. D'arrgggh! Sorry, my analogy kinda ran out on me at the end there. But you get the picture. So the moral of the story is, the next time you get a chance to stay up all night working on something that you actually have plenty of time to do the next day, Glensaki definitely recommends that you do it, because it totally doesn't make you feel like a moron at all. Until next time, then, i am Bensaki, accidentally freaking up all 24 hours of your day a good 5 hours before the deadline.

For some Gandhi-awful reason, i woke up today with a Disturbed song stuck in my head. Now I'm disturbed.

Freaknights at 11

Hey everybody, hope you're doing well. Here's what's going on with me: Final exams. I have a test tomorrow, friday, saturday, and monday, and then i'm done with school. I'm going back home on wednesday after Clare's flight leaves for Florida. That will be really sad, because i won't see her for three months. Yikes. So what does all this mean for you? I will probably be too busy to post until finals are over, except i might have time on sunday. If i think of any good one-liners, though, i'll drop in and share them with you. After next wednesday, all bets are off. I'll either post all the time because i have so much time on my hands that there won't be anything else to do, or i'll post rarely because i won't be on our (comparatively slow) computer that often. Who knows? In any case, have a freaked-up day, and i'll be in touch. Say hi for me.

bensaki

It's a freak country.

I wonder if anyone has ever written a song lamenting the commercialization and artificialization of society by saying something about "crying Visine tears."

sorry for swearing in that one. it won't happen again.

Concrete walls and pack rodents

I thought of a funny scene for a movie. There's an extravagant mansion with a man standing guard at the gate. Suddenly, this guy walks up and stands in front of the guard, right in his face. "What do you want?" asks the guard. "I want a damn and a rat's ass," the guy replies. "Why should I give a damn? Why should I give a rat's ass?" asks the guard. Without a word, the guy reaches down and grabs a sewer rat that's scurrying across the ground. Then he pulls out a huge knife and cuts the rat in half, throwing the tail end down at the guard's feet. "Damn!" says the guard, and he runs away.

Moral Outrage and Wanton Soup

I'm not usually one to get up on a soapbox or any such, but i think these banner ads what say "shoot the criminal and win whatever" are going just a bit too freakin' far. let's reward people for acting on their baser instincts and justify it by making the victim somehow morally inferior or some crap. like it's no big deal to kill someone just because he's running around with some stolen money and wearing a cheesy mask. yes, i know it's just a cartoon character and there are worse things out there than this ad, and that i'm full of crap, but like, whatever. sorry, i'm done.

Come to think of it, that fit pretty well with my title, which was really only supposed to a little joke about "wonton" and "wanton," which are pronounced the same, i think, although some people disagree. I think the idea of really depraved soup is pretty funny, myself. Wow, this blog is a blowfest.

Let's talk about something else, how 'bout? What would you like to talk about? I hear a resounding "Chickenosaurus," so i'll take it that's your answer. All right, that's what we'll talk about. I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.

Chickenosaurus was the name of a pet handful of mashed potatoes i used to have. I called it "Chickenosaurus" because it came from an ancient time and it smelled like moldy chicken. Long ago, in the days before side dishes, Chickenosaurus was a powerful executive with many friends. He drove the first sports car known to potato, which always had trouble starting because it was invented after the wheel but before internal combustion, or fire, for that matter. But when he could get it working, it was a pretty smooth ride. I know you're thinking that a sports car in prehistoric times is an anachronism, but you're wrong, because back then, anachronisms hadn't been invented yet. Anyway, Chickenosaurus used to get in his car and cruise for chicks, so he could add them to the front of his name to make it sound more oldskool hip-hop. He felt much cooler once he was known as Chick-Chick-Chickenosaurus, and he would sit around and freestyle about his "roostaz" up in "tha coop." That didn't last too long, though, because a rampant herd of poseurs roamed through the town and devoured all the vegetation with their carnivorous catchphrases and fancy production, forcing the old MC's with real street cred like Chickenosaurus into extinction. (Wait... how the crap did this story turn into a sermon about the desouling of rap? i don't even like rap. what am i on?) Either that or a gigantic Meteor of Good Taste collided with the planet, knocking the entire genre into oblivion. I don't know, it was one of those. The experts are divided on the issue. However it happened, Chickenosaurus eventually ended up on my plate, where we discussed his history for an enlightening five minutes, after which he ate me. The irony.

I apologize again for this ridiculous post. I'm gonna go lie down now.

it had to happen sooner or later...

so i'm re-posting a classic freakup from the days of yore, because i'm that legendarily lazy. and because this is one of my favorite posts i've ever done and i'm pretty proud (hehe) of it. and maybe some of you haven't read it because you started reading after i posted it. it's the one from october 14 of last year, concerning hogwashes. here it jolly well is.

---
I just got back from a hogwash, and boy, was it ever fun. If you had seen the color of those hogs before we washed them, you'd swear they weren't even the same species as the clean hogs. But they were. Now, don't be turned off by the word "hog"... these fine, divine specimens of swine were as clean as they could possibly be. After we washed them, that is. Before we washed them, you can just take all your usual negative connotations of the word "hog" and apply them to these hogs, because hooooooo-doggies, was them hogs ever sloppier'n a pail o' pigeon poo. (and i say that in the most countrified of ways.)

Now, the basic mechanics of a hogwash are simple: you get yourself a pail (not of pigeon poo) and a paintbrush (preferably of penguin plumage), or in the painful absence of a paintbrush, pick a pancake (of plum or parsley, perhaps) and approach the perimeter of the pig pen. Pause, patiently pleading the pigs to permit your presence. Presently, pounce on the pig in closest proximity. Procure a pint of Pine-Sol, then pour prudently on the precariously positioned pig. Perspire. Perpetually paint the pigskin with Pine-Sol till permeated. Pack a potato in the pig's piehole, then pick up your person and park it on the patio, post-haste. Perfect.

I hope you can join me at the next hogwash. Peter Piper's going to be there.

okay, so three of the sites i have linked are defunct or semi-defunct, and one of them, after its drummer left to start his own band, is now thoroughly de-funked. that joke has probably been cracked more times than my skull ought to be as a punishment for making the joke again. jeez, i'm no good at that kind of joke either. forget it. but as i was saying, carlene, liusia, and ryan have not updated in quite a while. carlene is in australia, so we should cut her some slack, i suppose, and liusia's computer caught on fire, so we'll give her the rest of the slack after we cut off the piece for carlene. ryan, i don't what the deal is with him. he's probably got other things to do than work on a website, so i'm happy for him about that. i guess there's not much of a point in telling you this, except that if you don't care to look back in history any further than the beginning of this month, you should go to one of the other sites i have linked. or, for that matter, you could just think up a completely different website to go to without my help. i know you could do it if you tried. there are plenty of words and letters out there; just start lumping some of them together, throw in a few odd punctuation marks, and eventually you'll come upon a real site.

not that you should stop visiting this site. on the contrary, you should start visiting it. now is as good a time as any to start, seeing as you're already here. i haven't had the greatest day, but i'll post anyway, because as i always say, if you want to freak up your day, freak up someone else's day. i'm pretty sure somebody famous said that, even if it was some c-list celebrity who should never have had a career but managed to charm the unsuspecting viewing public for a brief, radiant moment with a rags-to-riches story and a winning, surgically enhanced smile, until a few harsh but honest critics dared to throw into question the talent of such a newcomer and the eyes of the populace were opened to the fact that his entire oeuvre had been made up of gimmics and fluff, but he would nevertheless live on in kitschy merchandise and television nostalgia specials. i just forgot what i was talking about.

so here's the deal. clicky pens are what's wrong with the world today. i know many of you will be quick to rise to their defense, but that only goes to prove how strong a hold they have already taken on your minds. in fact, it may already be too late to avoid the danger, but at least i can make up a funny story about it. the villain will be... let's call him Elvis. i don't imagine that name gets around in many villainous circles. (watch, in a couple of days all the ads at the top of this page will be about Elvis Presley. even more so now that i mentioned his name.) so Elvis was sitting in his adult ed cooking class, watching the blossoming romance between Turner Benchley and Julie Hooten (that's another story), while his friend Tammy Davis Jr. (what?) was disassembling and reassembling a clicky pen over and over and over. eventually, of course, it drove him out of his bleedin' head, and once he was out of it, he realized it was bleedin' and went to get a bandage. when he came back, he was still pretty teed off, so he decided he may as well play the whole 18 holes. it was then that he realized what his problem was: he was taking all these expressions i was writing way too literally.

"Enough of that," he said, and golf-carted it back to the classroom. his plan was to take Tammy outside and kill her killingly for annoying him so annoyingly. but his plan failed failingly, as all events eventually do. he had a gun that he used usually, but this time it broke brokenly into pieces, peacefully. this type of prose went on ongoingly until it came haltingly to a stop. that was the end of my post, which i hope hopefully illustrated illustriously the problems of the world as caused by clicky pens. clickily.

flippity. they changed the whole place around. i got here and was like "they changed the whole place around." i don't know if i can really post about it. i don't know if i can really post about anything. i just kinda thought i'd check in. it's stormy and depressing out, and a bit stormy and depressing in too. but what are you gonna do? listen to abbey road and sulk, i guess. 1234567, all good children go to heaven.

Al O'Gator and the Crocodialtones

Normally, on a day like today, i would be revelling in yesterday's brilliance and feeling no need to post again right after a glorious entry like that. But i realized that living in the past is no way to live. Like artificial fingernails, i must press on.

Today, a post about Bisquick. I propose to persuade you how good an idea it was to name it Bisquick, and not something else.

First, there's the "Bis" part, an obvious reference to biscuits. Had they not included this powerful syllable, who knows what sort of confusion could have broken out? "What is this stuff?" "I don't know, but I guess it's quick." "Well, should we get some?" "Heavens, no! It might make off with the baby!" Well, you say, they might have used a different syllable instead. I challenge you to find a better syllable. Disquick? It would pop out of the oven and cast aspersions on your hygiene. Swisquick? It would yodel up a storm, but make an uncooperative sidedish. Misquick? Nothing good ever comes from that prefix. No, Bisquick is the clear choice here, although certain police departments have made good use of Frisquick.

Next, there's the "quick" aspect of the name. In today's up-and-at-em, go-get-em, rock-em-sock-em, too-busy-for-the-"th"-in-"them" society, customers want something that won't take too much time. Times have certainly changed since Bisfouryearsormore went bankrupt in 1810. I could make lots more jokes in this vein, but i want to keep this quick. Hee... Thisquick.

In conclusion, all the stuff i already said. Is there a better name for Bisquick than Bisquick? No.

Freak up your Cinco de Mayo

Oh man, everybody. It's Cinco de Mayo. My favorite holiday ever. How much psycheder could i get? I mean, i'm making up superlative adjectives here! Oh man.

As you should already have predicted, we're going to delve into the bogus history of this fine holiday, courtesy of my ever-fabricating mind. Olé. Imagine with me a time when the population of Mexico was made up of a single wild turkey, and Cinco de Mayo was known as Uno de Turkey. Naturally, the turkey didn't have much fun playing Uno all by himself, so he set out one day in search of 2-7 other players. But near as he was to the Gulf of Mexico, all he could find were playas. While he was there, he decided he might as well sunbathe for a bit, but when he got up to leave, there was wet sand in his toes, dry sand in his feathers, and ampersand in his name, which he was never able to get out. After that, his contaminated name, Turk&ey, made everybody think he was some sort of novelty confection, and they all tried to eat him. (Because of this, he also gave birth to a more obscure holiday, Thanksgiving.)

Still in search of card buddies, Turk&ey stopped in at a local Hallmark shop. Everyone gave him warm greetings, but no one seemed interested in playing games. He went to the post office next, but the people there said cards were a thing of the past. "It's the post-card era around here." Finally, he found what he was looking for in a little out-of-the-way comedy club. The place was full of cards. The only problem was, they weren't that into Uno. Five-card poker was their game. But after searching for so long, Turk&ey was perfectly willing to compromise. And so the holiday's name was changed to Cinco de Mayo.

Now i know you were all expecting me to say that the naming had something to do with mayonnaise, but the fact is, that just isn't true. Mayo is actually just the Spanish word for May, according to the Fundamental Principle of English-to-Spanish translation: add an "o" to the end of the word. Come on, people.

Wow, i don't think i've ever used that many puns in a single post before. That's amazing. Feliz Cinco de Mayo, everybody.

cool coolness. i just sent out the letter. if you didn't get it, ha ha ha. can't post today because i used all the ideas for my email and, let's be honest, i just don't have that many ideas anymore. the end of the year is approaching, and there's a general post shortage everywhere. we're all feeling the drought. but you can help! or you can't. whatever.