I’ve been breathing all day so I think I’ll inhale something light tonight, like helium.
A little breather
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Category Archives: Right brain
Crappy Hollow Park
Here’s a description of Crappy Hollow Park:
Crappy Hollow Park is a malevolent pit of despair cored out of the stenchiest, most noxious part of the county landfill. There are plenty of jagged metal edges to harm your children. The park has over 470 varieties of pestilence-carrying flies to contaminate your potato salad. Founded last Thursday during an excavation of some illegally discarded x-ray machines and the remains of a missing hobo, Crappy Hollow Park is pain and suffering for the whole family.
I think I’ll go to Happy Hollow Park instead.
The Hobbit
After a long, hard day of slaying dragons, the last thing I want is to come home and find the Sackville-Bagginses trying to auction off my belongings. I thought I wouldn’t have any further use for my trusty sword (except maybe for buttering scones) but it turns out they slice through other hobbits quite nicely. Much more easily than through those stringy-fleshed orcs. Anyway, with my ring of invisibility those pesky relations never knew what hit them. Now what do I do with all of these Sackville-Baggins chunks?
An alternate history of mobile devices
My new smart phone has a button I have to press if I want to use it as an actual telephone. Which reminds me that not so long ago I would have been very perplexed if someone made the absurd suggestion of taking a photograph with a telephone or anything else that was not a camera. I suppose it was inevitable that the telephone instead of another household device evolved into today’s digital Swiss Army knife, but that was a chance occurrence? Could we today be carrying iToasters around with us, taking photographs, and occasionally pressing a button when we wanted some toasted bread?
In 1987 Steve Jobs pulled over at a rest stop on the Interstate. He plugged his toaster into the car’s cigarette lighter. Because of his fondness for buttered toast, he had adapted the appliance to work in his car while he traveled. Suddenly, while he was waiting for two slices of enriched white Wonder bread to toast to a golden brown, an escaped elephant from a nearby zoo dashed across the Interstate. Cars swerved to avoid the rampaging beast. The elephant paused on the grassy median, raised its trunk and trumpeted. Three more elephants lumbered across the northbound lanes and joined the first. “If only I could take a photograph and send it to my friends at Apple,” Job cried. His toast popped up, each slice making a little somersault before returning softly to the toaster slots. Jobs looked down at his appliance. The delicious aroma of toast filled the inside of his Ford Escort. An idea was born.
If only Steve Jobs had really, really liked toast.
Hurrah for General Tso!
Speaking of General Tso’s chicken, I made up a story a while back about its origins.
During the Long March, the weary and hungry Red Chinese soldiers grew tired of eating spoiled rice. They were beginning to lose their determination. “Cheer up!” said their cheerful general, General Tso. “Soon we will achieve a glorious proletarian victory. We might even have a little bit of fresh chicken for dinner!”
“Hurrah for General Tso!” cheered his men.
Weeks went by and the soldiers grew hungrier and hungrier. Now all that was left to eat were lichens and mosses.
“Cheer up!” said General Tso. ”Soon we will achieve a glorious proletarian victory and there will be two chickens in every pot!”
“Hurrah for General Tso!” cheered his men.
When the Red Chinese soldiers reached Yan’an, there weren’t even mosses and lichens left to eat.
“Cheer up!” said General Tso. ”Soon we will achieve a glorious proletariat victory and there will be enough succulent fried chicken with a sweet, vinegary red sauce for all the workers!”
The next day, Chairman Mao found some of his Red Chinese soldiers eating steaming bowls of tasty morsels made with a sweet and vinegary red sauce.
“I’m looking for General Tso.” asked Chairman Mao. “Where is he?”
The soldiers each raised a chopstick with a piece of succulent meat. ”Hurrah for General Tso!” they cheered before taking a bite.
“Hurrah, comrades!” said Chairman Mao. “But where is General Tso?”
The soldiers raised their bowls and cheered again, “Hurrah for General Tso!”
“Hurrah, comrades,” said Chairman Mao, becoming annoyed. He was tired from a long day of giving syphilis to teenaged girls. “Now where is that confounded General Tso?”
“You must be hungry, Comrade Mao,” said a captain, offering the chairman a bowl and a pair of chopsticks. “Have some of ‘General Tso’s Chicken.’”
“Oh, all right,” said Chairman Mao. He was quite hungry and took a bite. “My goodness,” he said, “This is delicious. I taste apricot, ginger, garlic, and vinegar. But where did you get chicken? We haven’t eaten fresh meat in months.”
“It’s ‘General Tso’s Chicken’, Comrade Mao,” the captain said with a wink. “The secret ingredient is… General Tso.”
“Hurrah for General Tso!” cheered the Red Chinese soldiers.
How to kill a mockingbird
My name is Scout. It’s a dumb name for a girl but then Jem is dumb name for a brother. My father’s name is Atticus. He’s a bad-ass lawyer with a shotgun. He shot the rabid dog. He shot that freak Boo Radley when he finally dared set foot outside. He shot Calpurnia just for shits ‘n’ grins. Anyway, he taught me how to kill those bastard birds that wake us up every morning. Fucking mockingbirds.
And dust some crops while I’m up there
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I want to fly North by Northwest Airlines.
Astronomer or confectioner?
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Star chart or starch art?
First Amendment fashion
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She wore a red dress of grievances.
Quick, to the Immaculate Conception-Mobile!
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Holy infant so tender and mild, Batman!