Ich Pumpe

Looking up the spelling of “bicuspid”, I discovered dictionary.com’s language translator which, rather than a socially inept cyborg, is like the smart kid who finally started drinking. Case in point, I wanted to know how to say “I will poop on your head” in French. No probs said T: J’epuiserai sur votre tete. Not bad, I responded hesitantly appreciative, but what about…in…Spanish? Poop en su cabeza. Well played. German? Ich pumpe auf Ihrem Kopf aus. Oooo. Hmmm…Dutch!! Ik zal poop op uw hoofd. And now, a practical question, what if I’m Brazilianan scataphile? Eu poop em sua cabeca. Translator, your heart is golden. You will be a real boy someday.

Fort Instance

The “I think” qualification at the beginning of a sentence is usually omitable – as in, “I think I just used my dad’s credit card to buy two glasses of bourbon and then, pulling into the driveway, ran into the side of the garage.” For instance.

“If I am out of my mind, it’s all right with me, thought Moses Herzog.”
-Saul Bellow

May not

“I may not be gay, but I’m not blind.”
-Jon Gibbons

Malaria

Whenever I see someone praying over their lunch, I have an urge to come up behind them and, in a booming voice, shout, “IT SHALL COME TO PASS”.

Lessons learned playing Oregon Trail at my local library:
1. Your daughter’s malaria won’t be cured by hunting.
2. There is no reliable way to cross a river – forging, ferrying, or otherwise.
3. Your wife’s malaria won’t be cured by hunting.
4. Oxen are crybabies.
5. Abandoned wagons are usually snake colonies.
6. The senseless slaughter of bison is incredibly gratifying.
7. Your son’s malaria won’t be cured by hunting.
8. Epitaphs can be hilarious, especially if the word “fart” is included.

Sessions!

Michael Sessions, I respect your arching and innocuous fiery Molotov cocktail apple pie novelty. And by “respect” I mean “covet” with Mosaic-Law-execute-my-ass-for-stealing-your-mule vigor.
Michael Sessions, have you heard of Sid Vicious? No? Well, he made a name for himself on the basis of being musically inept and killing his girlfriend. He died at 21. Do you know how old I am, Michael Sessions? I’m 22 and, by the way, unknown.
Anyway, the other week you come sweeping across morning shows without even changing your polo shirt between appearances and saying “Yeah, uhh, I’m a high school senior and maybe I’ll go to Hillsdale College next year.” Do you know what that means, Michael Sessions? It means I will graduate with a bachelor of arts from the college “that one 18-year-old mayor” attended.
Watch your back, Sessions, because I am so setting you up with Argentinean transvestite.

I said “impart” in this post I’m a dick

If youth groups are any indication, Jesus has horrible taste in music.

-Admit it, you’re a nihilist.
-What’s the point?

Repeating something in a thoughtful manner doesn’t give necessarily impart gravity to the original phrase.

-If life had meaning, what would it look like?
-A penis.

Maltheism is self-evident.

“Don’t quote yourself.”
-Me

Possibly

A drive-thru, a Tuesday afternoon.

Dip: I hear he’s utterly incapable of pleasing a woman.

Dot: I don’t see how you could possibly find this any of your business.

Dip: I don’t see how you could possibly find a way not to suck.

Dot: I don’t see why you’re an asshole.

Dip: Hmmm.

Dot: Hmmm?

Dip: Hm-mm.

Dot: Touche.

Bugs

Bugs

The groggy recollections of appliances woke me up around 3.

-Rhaahhhuuhhmm. Gerglerglergle. Ussshhh.
-Well, mini-fridge, maybe you and your friends shouldn’t have been drinking on a school night.
-Whirrrrr.
-That’s not an excuse. We’ve had this discussion.

So the power was back and I’d been dreaming. I scratched my shins. I realized that there was a difference between feeling like a bug and feeling like an insect. Feeling like a bug could have positive connotations. Furthermore, feeling good is fluffy lack. Finally, feeling good is all we have. Then I sang a song about bed bugs which scared me soon like Where the Wild Things Are.

I’d been dreaming Elmira, cake flour with round breasts and penciled eyebrows, was driving down Trixie Stix Avenue, a street by my elementary school, in an British omnibus. I was in the far back and saying:

-You look tired.
-You know why.
-I do?
-Yes. You do.
-Is it…
-I spent $4,000 on heroin. You told me that’d make me tired.

She’d been talking about sleeping around. I regretted my comment.

SoHo

So passé: fellatio, the political Independent, emo parodying.

Discussions

There are discussions. There are class discussions. And then there are upper-level Hillsdale College class discussions. Let’s listen in (door squeeeeeeeaks open)…

CR: …like how people on welfare are idiots–

ME: –Wait, wait. People on welfare are idiots? What are you talking about?

CR: (insulted.) Have you ever seen these people? Have you ever talked to these people?

ME: Only at Hillsdale could you say something so stupid.

Murmurings of general classroom sympathy for CR.