is a blog by Brendan
(Yale calls me and tells me that my brother is going to throw his desk off the roof of their house.)
Yale: … And there’s power lines and stuff down there, and I don’t think he should do it. So call him and tell him not to. Okay?
Me: Sure, Yale. (I hang up and dial Ian.) Can’t believe Yale’s trying to restrain Ian… (Ian picks up.) Hey?
Ian: Hey?
Me: Yale wants me to tell you not to
Ian: Already did!
Do you, like any right-minded American, often find yourself daydreaming of the near-erotic qualities of homemade confectionery? Do you loathe the undead? In an attack simulation, would you be one of the fork-wielding souls who turned to spit your fury full in the gibbering face of the forces of Baron Samedi?
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I was really tired last night, and I kind of had a micronap in the middle of a conversation with Maria–just short enough to drop me into my subconscious, but not enough that I even noticed I’d fallen asleep. The result was that I radically changed subjects in the middle of a sentence.
“Yeah, I still think so… even if–” I said, and then stopped myself.
“Even if what?” said Maria.
“Even if,” I said slowly, “my children are made of potatoes, and the only thing we’re having for dinner tonight is french fries and potato chips, because we’re out of food and I’m going to have to feed them to each other if we want to survive?”
Today, November 19, 2003 (11.19.2003 = 17 = 8!!) is hereby declared International Ridiculous Globe-Spanning Conspiracy Day. In celebration, everything you see or do today will be in the service of absurdly complicated, cabalistic, hidden maneuvers, set in motion millennia ago. Today, every crackpot conspiracy theory, even if it contradicts with another true conspiracy theory, is true–because these guys orchestrated all those as ways of distracting crackpot attention from their own conspiracy. They’re the metaconspiracy. They’re so subtle they make the Illuminati look like the Fourth of July (incidentally, 7.4.1776 = 32 = 5 and 5 + 8 = 13!!!!) fireworks show. They own everything. You really shouldn’t raise any kind of fuss. The only thing they don’t control, in fact, is this post telling you about it.
OR DO THEY?
Happy International Ridiculous Globe-Spanning Conspiracy Day!
“Public nudity is compulsory, euthanasia is illegal, military funding has been stripped back, and young children are regularly seen wagering pocket money at blackjack tables.”
I found this thread about messing up your child’s vocabulary a while ago, but I guess I never posted it. I think it’s great, because a) it uses the word “xorph” and b) I plan to do that stuff to my kids all the time.
Well, actually I plan to do that stuff to Jon and Amanda’s kids first. If necessary, I will create props.
| Small Brasfield: | Mommy, can we go to the store and get some more Super Snot? We used it all. |
| Amanda: | Get some more what? |
| Small Brasfield: | Super Snot! The stuff you use to stick things together. |
| Jon: | You mean glue? |
| Small Brasfield: | Uncle Brendan told me it’s really called Super Snot! He showed me in a book. |
| Amanda: | Okay, listen carefully. From now on you can’t trust books Uncle Brendan gives you. Okay? |
| Small Brasfield: | I can’t trust the Bible? |
| Amanda: | (begins smoking from her ears) |
| Jon: | Wait. How did you use up all your Sup–your glue? |
| Small Brasfield: | Uncle Brendan showed me how to make Smaller Brasfield’s hair look really cool! |
After that, Jon and Amanda should have the messing-up-my-kids part well in hand.
Found while trying to get to the Pants Press forums:
SQL Error : 2006 MySQL server has gone away
Man, that’s really kind of lonely.
SQL Error : 2007 I miss MySQL server
Apache : 405 DO NOT WORRY SQL ERROR SHE WILL COME BACK TO YOU SOMEDAY
SQL Error : 9992A# I hope you are right Apache
SQL Error : 2892 It has been so long
Apache : 590 HOW LONG
SQL Error : 23%44% Approximately 20,398 microseconds
I hardly ever remember my dreams, so when I do they always seem bizarre way out of proportion. Last night I dreamt at some point that I was a superhero who worked in an office, and that a quasi-friend of mine was trying to catch me in my secret identity by going through my computer while I was in the bathroom. Fortunately I could monitor his actions via my wrist-camera screen. At another point a bunch of people, including Ian, Arnold Schwarzenegger and my cousin Josh, were at a Lowe’s that doubled as a toy store, and which sold Play-Doh and other modeling compounds in enormous quantities. (It was part of a mall, but we never actually made it that far.)
And I woke up repeating to myself “the principle of recursion is founded on the fact that some Mexican food can be made without any food.” Which almost makes sense.
Will Johnston doesn’t believe in binomial nomenclature.
Will Johnston drinks molten steel and eats fish heads.
The Tower of Pisa didn’t lean before Will Johnston.
Will Johnston shits emeralds.
And yet, somehow, Will Johnston is not Jake Berendes.