Epathy of Sorts... Part 1

In a scene from the upcoming musical based loosely on my life, “an evening with a moustache”, the central character, rasp (a wittily ironic name, given his heavenly falsetto) experiences an epiphany of sorts in a serbian coffee house. Rasp becomes involved in a heated argument with two serbs seated at the next table, one a seven foot trenchdigger and the other an evil midget genius, regarding the relationship between improving dental hygiene practices in the subcontinent and the recent dramatic decline in the quality of science fiction novellas (the serbs, foolishly, assert the latter to have been caused by the former; rasp maintains that the causal relationship is obviously the other way around, and that the pair must be on acid).as the conflict threatens to escalate into violence and urination, the waiter, a well-read and sensitive young fellow, intervenes and quickly diffuses it by delivering a compelling thesis on dialectical materialism as model for explaining the consistency of porridge. the beautifully enunciated lecture captivates the entire café for more than an hour. during this time, the wine flows freely, emotions run high, and more than a few tears are shed (the behemoth, in particular, turns out to be a profuse bubbler). by the dramatic conclusion, the former adversaries are now firm friends, having been bound eternally by the heart-rending shared experience.later in the evening, the conversation predictably turns to matters of a homosexual nature. the goliath, who as a victim of direct syndrome tends to blurt out statements which could euphemistically be described as controversial, declares “in my country, we kill faggots”. rasp turns to the evil midget genius, who has a stephon marbury-like disproportionately large cranium; he confirms the statement with a simple nod of his huge head.

Racial blur

We are all Jews! Indeed most Jews have been, like most non-Ariens, over the centuries, victims of history. If Jesus, born a Jew, had not fallen out with his fellow religionists, had he not been crucified, there may not have been a Jewish Diaspora. And they may not have been forced to live in ghettoes wherever they settled. And they may not have been victimised in the holocaust. Actually - all of us would be jews now! THINK ABOUT THAT ONE!!!

Accumulated Wisdom

As the sunshine slowly fades, leaving only beef, horse and the odd flu-ridden bird to satisfy the masses' craving for dead, reflections begin to work their way up to the surface of the stagnant, toxic pond that represents my mind in this metaphor. It's time for this world-weary illosopher to drop some accumulated wisdom to you my dear friends, my childrens, and bequeath to you the lessons that have been learned to me in this eastern experiment.

Lesson #1:
Nobody has invented a teleporter yet, which is possibly the biggest disappointment of my life, followed closely by the spectacular failure of my experiments to attach a lighthouse to Zoran's head. Think of how safe Singapore's waterways could have become had I succeeded. Instead, we are left with shipwreck after shipwreck, which is really destroying the property values in my residential neighbourhood. Ponder this, during a pals most intimate moment, for example, as Zorans puckered lips touch the quivering nipple of his tiny victim for the first time you could appear naked with bath enhanced tackle and wobble vigourously while going blurldlelurdle with your tongue like a turkey, then dissapear as quickly as you materialised! There is a limitless variety of things you could do in unexpected 3 second teleported bursts. Thats why Spok wears those ears! They crack his mates up every time.

Lesson #2:
The body is a temple. Unfortunately, as god doesn't exist, it is merely a structure built to manipulate the masses by appealing to their thirst for meaning and assuaging their fears of death. i say we destroy all temples, shrines, churches, mosques, synagogues, and bodies, thus liberating us from those hegemonic sites and the ideological power that they possess. without bodies, we would be free to truly experience life, and also drink as much Soju without fear of brain damage.

Lesson #3:
Fucking ladies is for puffs. This one is fairly self-explanatory.

Lesson #4:
Time is relative. This has become extraordinarily clear to me in recent months. For example, in the time that it takes you to eat your stone-grilled steak and veges accompanied by a chilled glass of riesling in a lovely little bistro, I will have extracted several gallons of bone marrow from the eyes of returned servicemen, gorged myself on polystyrene, taken apart some monkeys, tried to put them back together, given up and pushed them through the waste disposal unit, convinced some kids to throw up into each others stomachs, laughed while watching them, thrown up all over myself, laughed again, choked, choked someone else, bought some new pants and socks, tied them into a bundle and set them on fire, regretted it, become hungry, and eaten my own chin in Korea. yeah y'all, that's how i'm livin'

JATO rocket car

The Arizona Highway Patrol came upon a pile of smoldering metal embedded into the side of a cliff rising above the road at the apex of a curve. the wreckage resembled the site of an airplane crash, but it was a car. The type of car was unidentifiable at the scene. The lab finally figured out what it was and what had happened.
It seems that a guy had somehow gotten hold of a JATO unit (Jet Assisted Take Off - actually a solid fuel rocket) that is used to give heavy military transport planes an extra 'push' for taking off from short airfields. He had driven his Chevy Impala out into the desert and found a long, straight stretch of road. Then he attached the JATO unit to his car, jumped in, got up some speed and fired off the JATO!
The facts, as best could be determined, are that the operator of the 1967 Impala hit JATO ignition at a distance of approximately 3.0 miles from the crash site. This was established by the prominent scorched and melted asphalt at that location. The JATO, if operating properly, would have reached maximum thrust within five seconds, causing the Chevy to reach speeds well in excess of 350 MPH, continuing at full power for an additional 20-25 seconds. The driver, soon to be pilot, most likely would have experienced G-forces usually reserved for dog-fighting F-14 jocks under full afterburners, basically causing him to become insignificant for the remainder of the event. However, the automobile remained on the straight highway for about 2.5 miles (15-20 seconds) before the driver applied and completely melted the brakes, blowing the tires and leaving thick rubber marks on the road surface, then becoming airborne for additional 1.4 miles and impacting the cliff face at a height of 125 feet, leaving a blackened crater 3 feet deep in the rock.
Most of the driver's remains were not recoverable; however, small fragments of bone, teeth and hair were extracted from the crater, and fingernail and bone shards were removed from a piece of debris believed to be a portion of the steering wheel.
Incredibly, an intact bumper sticker was recovered as well. The text on the sticker was; "How do you like my driving? Dial 1-800-EATSHIT".

Let the Games Begin!

Friday evening. A productive period spent watching porn and listening to blur. Recent events have led me to believe that hair is unnecessary, but I will continue to tolerate it nonetheless. Also spent some time dwelling on the logistics of cartilege-based lubricants. VERY arousing.
This blog has been created to lubricate my creative talents in the art of linguistic blur.
I envisage a running discussion on several vital fronts that I feel very passionately about: the effects of the intercontinental time lag on food-fights; the ideal height of curbs; tips for perfecting the art of knee-sucking; the ideal volume of stool samples; and of course how to get around the eternal problem of the handicapped.
Let the games begin!