Wednesday, November 30, 2011


I tend to assume people are untrustworthy, and that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The thing is, how is that bad? My prophecies are being fulfilled. Do know how rare that is? It burns up that gypsy lady every time I tell her. She put a curse on me, which I prophecized would make my life worse, and it did.

Me and my horse, who's name I forgot, were talking about this. He says when I expect people to disappoint me, I set them up to fail. But what the hell does he know? Nobody even knows his name! It's probably Liarhorse or Horse the Liar. Plus, I didn't expect him to help me anyway. I set him up with one task everyone would fail and he failed, so there you go. I'm right. I will never trust him or any horse again, whatever his name is. Probably Untrusty.

What's that damn horse's name?

Oh yeah, Horsey.

No! Horsedog.

No!! Mapleleaf! I'm pretty sure it was originally Mapleleaf.

No, we'll go with Horsedog.

Anyway, he's a liar.

Sunday, October 30, 2011


It's bad if you misspell donuts as "dognuts". I learned this today, ordering things on the internet. I have a dozen dognuts coming to me from I don't know if that's pairs of nuts or just 12 individuals. If it's not pairs, I want my money back. If it's individuals, I will grudgingly keep them. I don't look forward to eating them for breakfast.

Monday, October 24, 2011


Farming is hard. And I picked a bad time to start - right now. I mean, sheesh, you'd think I'd get some result after watering seeds for a week. It's been a whole week! But no such luck. Still waiting on my boston baked beans to sprout.

I admit I'm a novice, but I should get at least get an A for effort. Am I not owed that? I am! Give me whatever I think I deserve! Also that A should come in the form of a candy tree. That would be justice. Goddammit Earth, you owe me at least that.

And to be fair, a whole lot of other things too. You owe me a kitchen with a real stove in it, not this gas-blowing, make-you-pass-out-from-gas-inhalation machine I have now. Also my landlord owes me that. That's the law.

You owe me a really great song about me. I've been at this for a week! I want the lyrics to be, "Ron Ron Ron, you're so great. Everybody else can suck an egg. Dadada, leg." Or something. I don't know. I'm no Nelly Furtardo. Just make it inspire people to commit world peace or something. It's important I'm remembered as inspiring and a hero. "Ron Ron Ron, what have you done. Being so peaceful and dadada gun." Maybe find something that rhymes better than gun. Like I said - your job. My job is to farm nutritious and sweet beans.

And last but not finally, you owe me a mountain of spaghetti, because I would say a lifetime of spaghetti, but I don't want it to be all spaced out in little small parts over a lifetime. I want it all now, dammit.

But back to farming. Let me get on point: you all owe me. At least a vacation to Maui or something. Or at least a waterpark in Wisconsin with a Maui theme - you know, Mauiconsin, or Mauiconsinland - the more affordable but still adequate Mauiconsin. I've put in my time. You owe me at least a Wiscation.

Did you know salted peanuts do not grow more salted peanuts when planted? Turns out they just salt the earth, which apparently is not a good thing. I thought, "Mmm, salted earth! Sounds tasty like Ruffles!" Boy was I wrong. Tastes more like Pringles.

Anyway, my point with farming is this: horse poop may be a good fertilizer and often free, so don't overpay for it. And you don't need to "see how it feels" to know if it's good. Don't be stupid, just taste it. That's "seeing how it feels" with your tongue. More productive.

And let me warn you: it tastes god-awful. Just terrible. It's the taste equivalent of having your wang slammed in a minivan door.

So that's farming.

Saturday, October 1, 2011


Got into a bit of trouble today. Turns out when they say, "It has to be a seeing eye dog, not a seeing eye horse," they mean it. And I'm supposed to be blind. So I had a hard time getting into my job interview at the Heritage Foundation.

By the way, did you know that think tanks don't have to be shaped like tanks? It's just a regular building. I thought one of two things: either an aquarium, like a fish tank, or a giant military tank with a big cannon. I thought a military tank would make a lot of sense, because what good are ideas if you can't back them up? That Heritage Foundation is all talk.

So their security guard escorted me and my trusty horse out. Although, I think "escorted" is the wrong word. "Kicked" is too. There was no kicking. There was a lot of billy-clubbing and defensive grapples against my many blows. I landed a few good ones though.

Friday, September 2, 2011

I like to rise early in the morning, when the birds have just begun to sing their good morning songs, the sun has just begun to cast the faintest pale-orange specter of daylight across the night sky, and there are still plenty of double chocolate donuts at Dunkin Donuts.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

New Romance

Gay men like me a lot more than straight women. Way more than gay women. So I'm trying to turn myself gay.

It seems like it'd be pretty easy - go to an antique shop, meet a fancy gay man with good taste, and engage in coitus - not so. For some reason there's a part of this human brain that rejects the rational part. I don't know what to call it - probably "the straight part". That's the part of the brain that rejects rationality. Straightness is responsible for everything that doesn't make sense. I think it's safe and fair to blame straightness for everything irrational in the world.

I can make it to the antique shop, even buy an ottoman that I have no actual use for. I already have way too many ottomans. Good luck getting around my house with out bumping into one. Especially in the dark. Those things are shins' worst enemy.

I have to wear shin guards at night now, like a night-time soccer player. Other night-time soccer players always think I'm on the way to a game, then I say no, and they're like, "Oh - ottomans," and we nod. They're pretty good people.

I can even meet a gay man with good taste. There's an aluminum knight that's painted lime green with pink polka-dots. It's the perfect object of good taste. Any time a guy looks interested in that, I try hitting on him. I have a few pick up lines that tend to work:
"Hey, you and me are gay. Let's do the nasty."
"Howdy, partner, let's do the nasty."
"Hey guy, I'm looking to do the nasty. You?"
"Nasty? Wanna do it?"
"Ola, muchacho. El nasty?" (my Spanish is not great)
"LET'S DO THE NASTAAAY"(said like Cookie Monster)
"Nasty nasty nasty, let's all do the nasty. You and me." (that's sort of to a conga beat)

Nine out of ten times, it never works. But one out of ten times - it sometimes works. I'd say one out of twenty of the one out of ten, give or take. More take.

It only worked once.

But when it came time to actually do it, I chickened out, like a not-gay chicken. I'm so ashamed of myself. I am working on a gay-maker machine though, based on listening to the anti-gay deprogramming tapes Christians offer and replacing all the "don't"s with "do - a lot"s. I'll let you know how that goes. My wife, Chevrolet, she cannot know about this.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

New Flame

There's this lady in my building who I can't get to say hi to me. Her name's Dora Fleckinger. It's not my wife, Chevrolet. She and I are solid as a rock, but a little harmless flirting never hurt.

I like to be friendly. I do all the normal things people do to greet each other. I leave hand-written notes in her mailbox telling her I can hear when she comes home at night. I wait for her on the front porch and glare intensely, trying force eye contact, barking, "Dora! I know you see me and I know your name!" I break into her house. The normal things. She just won't go for it.

It hurts to be rejected. Am I so bad? Is it my fault her husband left? I chased him away threatening to kill him if he ever came back, but he's the one who never came back. So I think we should share the blame, because I'd like to avoid responsibility on this this one.

Why did I chase him away? I'm pretty sure he was keeping bees in their house. I saw a bee once. It was probably his fault.

Listen, I don't like the guy.

So now she won't say hi. Won't even drop the restraining order. Hell, she won't even not mace me. Jokes on her - I got some nearly air-tight ski goggles that I wear all the time now. It only makes my glaring worse on her end. Plus, now I'm more ready than ever to ski.

But I think I'm slowly winner her over. She's dropped from two lawyers to one to prosecute me. I think it was a switch from quantity to quality, because this guy is really good. Like, when I called his office to threaten him he had me in jail in no time. But, overall, it turns out to be a good thing. We get a lot of good face time in court when she answers the question, "And is this man in this courtroom," and she answers, pointing to me, "Yes - he's right there." I wave and giggle like a little school girl with a crush, the bailiffs restrain me, my lawyer advises me to just shut up for once. It's a thing we do. It's our thing, me and Dora.

Maybe that's my problem. I'm too shy.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Sleep Tips

A few tricks I've learned to combat insomnia:

1. Drugs. Drugs are your friend. If a stranger offered me some, I would take them. I don't care what parents say. If you want to sleep and there are drugs around, chances are they will help. The chances are about 50% - you don't know if it'll be an upper or a downer. If it's an upper, not necessarily bad. Those can be a lot of fun if you like cleaning your house like your life depended on it.

2. Breathing exercises. Try doing a sleeper hold on yourself. It stops you from breathing. You'll wake up refreshed, alert, and probably bruised because you hit your face on the night stand on the way down - the night stand, or the floor. I've done both. Also woken up in the fridge. Don't get bored and then see what there is to eat while you're putting yourself in a sleeper hold.

3. Teas. Don't drink them. You'll have to pee. Peeing is the enemy of sleep. Sleep has many enemies. Among them, peeing is number one. Others are loudness, brightness, things that bite/fear, and work. Work is the easiest one to get around.

4. Exercise. This one I don't know. Everybody keeps telling me I should exercise, but I don't know where my sleep muscles are or how to work them. Must be some place I can't see. If you wanna buy a gym membership, go ahead.It's your money. Gym memberships are for suckers. That's my point.

Take any of my tips and you'll be sleeping in no time. And you won't be wasting money on a useless gym membership. Just run and do push ups at home!

Thus concludes my first entry on workouts.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Earth Weather

The hail really scared the dog upstairs. Not me though - I was brave. I didn't bark or whine at all.

I hid, like a man.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

New New Job

Well, I got fired from being a CEO. It turns out I can't send the shareholders each a letter that says "FUCK YOU" and get away with it. I thought I could. It's just how I felt at that moment.

I blame my legion of assistants. They should've stopped me. If they're not there to stop me from doing something stupid, why did I hire them in the first place? Somebody should've stopped me from hiring all of them - probably one of my assistants.

I got a new job with a bicycle rickshaw company. Problem is, when I got fired, they took away my corporate bicycle. Now I have to pull the bicycle rickshaw with my body. That's humiliating.

And somebody left a whip in the carriage. People keep whipping me with it. Even more humiliating, they yell, "yah!". I've been meaning to take that whip out. And I've been meaning to install a sign that says, "No Yelling 'Yah!'". Those are my two positive, outside-the-box solutions. See - can't stop thinking like a CEO!

Although, they'd probably just find something else to yell. That's what happened when I installed the sign that said, "No Saying 'Please, sir, we're in quite a hurry and you've taken far longer - over an hour - than you said you would. I don't mean to be rude but this is really causing a problem.'" They just started yelling "Yah!".

I just keep forgetting to fix it. Slips my mind. Funny how we forget things like that until it's too late, isn't it? You think, "Oops, I forgot to bring some paper towels down to the car again so I can clean the interior," or, "Darn, should've brought my lunch to work today. Now I have to go to Jimmy John's again." The whip thing is like that, only it really hurts and causes pain almost constantly.

Sometimes I pass out from pain. That's my time to relax.

It feels good to be doing something with my body though, instead of being stuck behind a desk. At least that's what I tell myself. To be honest, I really loved sitting at a that desk. I didn't feel stuck at all. I felt liberated. Nothing to do but sit! And be pampered. There's no hot sun, people with whips, or getting routinely hit by cars. Sitting behind a desk is the best thing I've done, and I feel it's criminally underrated. Try it some time. It feels great.

It's way better than pulling a bicycle rickshaw with your body. That sucks. I hate every second of using my body. This body is terrible. You humans chose to have dumb bodies through the process of evolution. Just absolutely stupid - two legs? Only two freaking legs?! Get real! And there's no anti-gravity function! I've gotta deal with gravity all damn day.

But that's not what I tell myself. I'm staying positive. You know - lying to myself.

Monday, June 27, 2011

My Mental Breakdown

High-pressure CEO job, sleepless nights, difficult wife - It's finally happened. I've had my mental breakdown and I couldn't be happier.

Here's the part they don't tell you - mental breakdowns are great! You get tons of pity! Plus, waking up in a hospital is always nice. You know that all you have to do is ring a bell and someone will change your sheets, which you can pee in whenever you want.

It happened when I was crossing the street and tried to flip over a bus. Seems like the story might be more complicated than that, but it's not. I was crossing the street from one side to the other on my way to Walgreens, saw a bus at a stop, and got so angry I tried to flip it over.

Did it work? Yes. I think so. I blacked out almost immediately, so I don't know for sure. Ok - I don't know at all. But the next time I passed that stop, the bus wasn't there, so in my book, I flipped it over. Success.

In fact, I think I flipped it over and then kept rolling it, probably back to the bus depot where it belongs, several miles away. I'm responsible, so I put things back after I play with them.

Only one person came to visit me - the doctor. It was great to see him. He had lots of comforting words to offer like, "cough," "I'm sedating you," and, "I told you, there is no rectal exam. Normally people don't ask for that, Mr. Humanton."

The nurses tried to visit too, to be fair. But I yelled, "I'll flip you!" in a way that really freaked them out. I meant in a joking way, but it came out in a very murdery way. I guess I hadn't quite recovered yet.

Recovery's going great. I'll be back in bus-flipping shape in no time. That's the goal.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

My Wife

My wife, Chevrolet, she's a heck of a lady. I wonder where she is. She comes around sometimes, but usually just to say, "See, I have husband," to some government agent who's trying to deport her. And one time she needed to borrow rice.

Beautiful woman. She could make the stars weep with pure hatred because they hate so much that they can't have her. But I can, legally. Legally, she's my property. That's what being a wife is. Weep away, stars. Weep from hatred.

Sometimes she and Maple-leaf, my horse and best friend, will go on trips together. I let them use my credit card because that's what friends are for - being taken advantage of.

We met at a hockey game. She stumbled into the men's bathroom drunk and I said, "Hey, you can't come in here, I'm vomiting." It was magical.

I'd gotten in a hockey fight, despite the fact that I wasn't playing. Apparently heckling with "You suck and I want to fight you" is not a common heckle at a kids' hockey league game. They were sixth graders. When they came to fight me I did pretty good, but the dads - I couldn't beat them. Not all 9 of them. Luckily most of the team had absentee fathers.

So that's why I was throwing up. My body was trying to eject anything but the essentials since it was going into survival mode, having just exercised a strong fight or flight response. With the kids it was fight, with the dads it was flight. I'm not good at the flying part. At least not across slippery ice.

She must've been impressed with my fighting moves against those sixth graders, because she married me to get her visa in no time. We had the quickest shotgun wedding the express chapel offered. We got married so fast we skipped right over the honey moon. In fact, when went straight to the "trial separation," as they call it. She said we needed some time apart. We'd been married since dinner. I can't argue - this whole marriage thing is really her specialty. She tells me how to do it and when to stop calling her, and, now, when I can start calling her again. Not calling or contacting her has become the norm. I like that she's willing to work through this.

Every marriage has problems. Marriage is hard, but worth it. There's no better feeling in the world than telling the guys at the police station, "I'm here to bail my wife out of jail. That's right, my wife."

I'm a lucky guy.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

New Job!

I seem to have gone off course. I remembered recently that the reason I was here was for a "Day the Earth Stood Still - Keanuauwuu Reeves Version" style mission. I haven't done that. I have thrown a LOT of trash in the ocean, been someone who spreads violence and negativity, been hugely gluttonous, and ridden a horse. So all of those things are the opposite, except the horse, which is a grey area.

Which reminds me, Maple-leaf and I are getting along fine. We just shared a martini in my new limo and he managed to have a hat-maker, (a haberdasher) make him a top hat that fits a horse. I thought it was too hoity, but when I saw it on him I realized it really does suit him.

And good news, I'm a CEO now of Trampucorp, a world-wide corporation. So I guess that's really the opposite of the "Day the Earth Stood Still - Keeyanuu Reeves Version". But who's to say what's opposite of what? Some philosopher? An oppositologist? This is not a rhetorical question. Please, answer me.

It turns out it really is just hard work and positive thinking. That's all it took to rise to the top. I don't know what's wrong with the rest of you - you 99% most-of people. You're just not trying. I think you like starving.

I figure I can combine the two missions of saving the Earth and increasing profits like this: I just won't really do either one. There are plenty of books to cook. I laid off a lot of people to hire book-cookers. Being a CEO is great.

I have a limo with a hundred pounds of chocolate in there. The chocolate is rancid now, so I had to cover it in gold. That's when I do when something goes bad. I cover it in gold.

Where does the money come from? I don't know! I never really understood it in the first place. Who decides what money means? It's not a rhetorical question. Turns out, the answer is me. When you're in charge of something, you can tell it what to do. And I'm in charge of a lot of money.

But running a company isn't all limousines and glamor. It's really not. A lot of people are skeptical of that statement, but it's not!

Here are some of the other things I do in numbered order:
1. Hire people to do things.
2. Relax.
3. Party.
4. Hire someone to clean up the party.
5. Relax from all that partying.
6. Post-relax party.

Really, I can't inummerate all the things because they go on forever. And then, when you get to the post-relax relaxing... It get's complicated.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Sleeping Problems

I can't sleep. It's annoying. I keep trying at all times of the day. I figure since I can't do it in a bed, maybe it'll work in a chair, or in a line, or on someone's shoulder on the bus. No dice.

Falling asleep on someone's shoulder only works for so long. Then they have to get off at their stop, or they gently nudge you back awake. I pretend I don't notice the gentle nudging, which works at first, but eventually they get wise and start really nudging. Then I start really nudging back. No one believes I'm still asleep at that point. But if I admit I've been faking it, then it really gets uncomfortable, because they can address my actions.

Generally, when people address my actions, it's uncomfortable. "Sir, we require shoes and a shirt," they'll say, or, "He's the one! Get him officer!" Two examples. Two very common examples. Which reminds me - it's a bad idea to rob a store in your underwear. Makes it hard to hide the gun.

So here I am in jail. Good luck keeping me. One of the things they don't know about me is I'm an alien with superpowers. Like super-Power of Attorney. I'll have my home planet funnel me money for a rich-person lawyer. I've never been convicted. And it's my fault all that global warming's happening. So think of a crime bigger than that - I'll still get out of it.

I'm the guy that keeps throwing trash in the ocean. That's why there's that big vortex of it as big as Texas. I spend a lot of time throwing trash in there. Frankly, this jail time is cutting into my polluting time. I'm owed for that.

Heard of fracking? I makes it so you can can light water from your faucet on fire. I do that for fun.

I've been tried for all these things and always come out clean - so clean you never even hear of the trial in the first place.

You may think I'm a bad person for all that, but I do it all out of contempt, not love. So I am a bad person, in a lot of ways.

My goal is the total annihilation of the human species, or at least an admission that you're not as great as you thought. I'll settle for either one.

And it's hard to come up with good ideas for that when you can't sleep. I heard Ibuprofen works, so hopefully I'll be back at it soon, in full force.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Making Normal Small Talk

"Is Trudy the name of your wife, or your car?" I asked.
"I named my car after my wife, Trudy," he said.
"Oh, I see. I run into the same problem with my wife, Oldsmobile," I said. That was a lie. I was trying to fit in.

I was not making any friends at this YMCA. I try too hard. Every time I tried to strike up small talk I ended up telling a bald-faced lie like, "my wife's name is Oldsmobile." That one actually comes up a lot.

My wife's name is Chevrolet.

"You keep up with the Sox?"
"Sure do," I said. "I am a sock." That was the wrong thing to say. I was speaking to the coach of the Sox. Ricky Sox, I think his name was. Apparently it's a sports team.

When I try too hard I end up lying to impress people.

I tried to cover my tracks by showing up to the dugout for a few games, but my RBIs were average at best. I was worried they'd start to catch on.

I felt I stole too many bases too. I should've earned them, the honest way.

"Your wife's name is Oldsmobile?" asked Ricky Sox, incredulously, weeks later, after a game where I'd only hit one or two homers. I thought it was time to come clean.
"Alright," I said,"that was a lie." It felt good to be honest. Now we were off to the start of a great, honest friendship, I thought.
"Because I don't even believe you could ever have a wife," he continued. "And some really awful, maladjusted people have wives. John Wayne Gacy did, I think. That guy without a face, his wife still stuck with him. But you - no," he kept continuing, "You're worse than all of them."

"Thanks for the tip, friend," I said. That caught him by surprise.

If I hadn't had my hands around his neck, choking him, he probably would've responded. Probably with something like, "No problem, buddy." But with my hands around his neck choking him that hard he really couldn't say anything. I guess I'm not a Sox fan. And I'm not good at making friends at the YMCA.

So that's how I finally lost my YMCA membership.
"Geez, you don't have to file assault charges on me," I said to guy who runs it, Ricky YMCA.
"Stop saying that so much. That's practically your catchphrase," he countered.
"Sorry," I said while assaulting him. It's habit I'm into that's hard to break.
I gave him some free tickets to the next Sox games to show my gratitude for all he'd put up with from me and whole organization.

Since I couldn't go to the Y anymore, there was no point in me keeping up the charade with Ricky Sox. I lead the team up to the playoffs and then gave it up. I couldn't live a lie anymore.

More about my wife, Chevrolet, later.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Reuniting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Well, me and Maple-leaf met back up at the unemployment office. It was awkward at first, but I broke the awkwardness but standing somewhat near him and neither confirming nor denying his presence. I did a lot of looking at him and then looking away as he looked at me. Boy, I wonder what those people thought of me being so aloof with that horse. We were in a big line.

"Oh! that horse just farted," a beautiful woman said, holding her nose and retching.
"Nope, that was me," I countered. You gotta take the fall for your buddies sometimes. Plus it really was me. "Nice to meet you. My name's Ron, I think you're beautiful, and I'd like to take you on a date." I couldn't be sure what she was saying through the vomiting, but I'm pretty sure it was yes. No one could refuse a line like that. "Nice one, Ron," I thought in my mind. Then, in my mind, I gave myself a high five.

Usually, when I think something about a woman, I'm dead wrong. Sometimes I think they're men. Sometimes they are. Then, in those cases, it's not even an issue of me thinking something wrong about a woman, it's just a general lack of attention to detail. So that's a different issue.

But this time I was right. I gave myself a bunch of high fives in my mind for that. We had a date. The trick is, I just stayed with her in the ambulance after she passed out from the smell. I brought her food from the hospital cafeteria and told her about myself as she slowly regained consciousness. It was perfect. Ok, sure, I shouldn't have farted again. That maybe wasn't perfect. But no date is perfect.

A few medical shifts later, she came to.
"I've been keeping you hydrated," I said. Shows that I care.
"Thanks. I didn't know I could even drink water," she said. I hid the tube.
"I read on your chart that your name's Darla. Sounds like a corny country singer's name." Boy, I have to hand it to myself - I can really lay on the charm.

It wasn't long before security escorted me out, but those several hours before she could hit the panic button were magical. You can't win them all, but I consider this one a win. Just because it ended doesn't mean it was a waste. Also I don't care that she ended it as soon as she was lucid enough to realize who I was. The important thing is she loved me, probably. At least by accident in a coma dream, I bet. Anything can happen in those.

Maple-leaf was waiting for me outside. They wouldn't give a horse unemployment. (I tried to tell him that. Horses don't pay in to unemployment insurance while they're employed, so how could they receive it when they're not? Use your brain, horse.) We barked philosophically about injustice, the universe, and the tendency of chaos to create order, at least in the feeble mind of mortals. I farted again, but this time there was no long line around to suffer a "trampling catastrophe," as the press so unfairly called it. I would've called it a trampling inconvenience, leading to a date. But they never tell the little guy's side of the story.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Maple-leaf, My Horse, Come Back! I Love You! (In a Platonic Way)

I bet you're wondering what happened to my horse, Maple-leaf. Me too. He said he was going to meet me at the most abandoned, dilapidated spot in East Chicago. Good luck finding that. That's like finding crappiest crap in a pile of crap. Exactly like it. Maybe he had something specific in mind, but I'm lead to believe he ditched me on purpose. That hurts. That hurts a lot, Maple-leaf.

Now, I never did anything wrong to Maple-leaf. I mean, sure, I rode him. But isn't that what horses are for? I mean, I wouldn't care if people rode me. ... Wait. Maybe now I'm starting to see his point of view. I would care if people rode on my back. At least, if a big fatass like me did. Ever heard the term "Circus Fat"? Neither had I, till I was at the circus.

"He's fat, but I don't know - circus fat?" said an incredulous, straw-hat-wearing circus employee chewing on a toothpick. He name was Dwelvin.
"Damn right I'm circus fat! You sayin' I'm not?" I said. Why did I say that? I don't want to be circus fat. I just like to be defensive. "You think you're better than me? Fatter?" I continued, wishing I hadn't.
"That don't make sense."
"Hmmm, maybe he's circus dumb," his friend chimed in. Jelvis.
"Naw, I know circus flaws, and he's circus fat at best," said Dwelvin.
"I'm dumber and fatter than anybody you got," I said, thinking "Shut up, Ron."
"Awright," Dwelvin said, "you got one day to prove yourself."
"Pfff," I said, "Pfff. Gimme and hour." Now I was actually into this and pretty engaged. I'll admit that sometimes I'm pretty stupid. I said one more, "Pfff."

So they set me up one display. People paid a lot of money. Why? I don't know. People are stupid. Can't blame them. I am too.

Actually, that's a cop out answer. "People are stupid" is a stupid answer I hate. Only something as stupid as people would come up with it. The real reason is I was FAT. I mean, once-in-a-life-time, come-and-see-this-honey-before-his-heart-explodes, is-there-a-neck-under-there? fat. So that's not so stupid. You only get to live once. Might as well see someone really fat.

(I should back up and say that the reason I'd become circus fat was because I'd been traveling through Canada during syrup harvest season. I did it while riding with my horse, Maple-leaf. Remember him? He's the one I've been talking about. Drank a lot of syrup, and I mean a lot. It had a significant effect on Canada's gross exports.)

Dwelvin and Jelvis were impressed. They graciously took me on to their circus, offering me a state-of-the-art hole in the ground to sleep in, as long as I dug it every night, and the finest straw you can buy in bulk on the black market. They argued about it. Here's how it went:
"He can't sleep in a hole. That's inhumane," Dwelvin said.
"Oh yeah?" I said truculently, meaning I'd be willing to fight him to prove I could do something. I just like being defensive.
"Well, you could," Jelvis said, bewildered.
"Damn right," I said, "I could do it every night for as long as you employ me."
"Well, I don't think that's necessary."
"Watch me," I said, hard-assedly. Then I stared them down to prove my hard-assedness. But they didn't know what I was doing it for, so they just looked confused. So they looked at me, confused, and I looked at them, hard-assed, for a long time. Just stared and stared. I won, because it got dark. I did the same thing with the OSHA employee who came later to try get me out of the hole for my own good. Beat him!

Now, you'd think just touring as a freak, you know - being yourself, would be easy. Just be. That's all you have to do. Not so. First thing I did was change my name because I thought I should have a stage name. "The Iron Noodle" just confused people more than anything. What did it mean? Wait, are you the fat guy? There were lots of questions. I was clearly the fat guy.

But the second thing, my bigger problem, was that I couldn't stop losing weight. I was on a strict diet of horse-grade oats.
("He can't live on horse-grade oats, Dwelvin."
"Oh, can't I?" I butted in. I showed them.)
Those things clean you out, the horse-grade oats. I went from circus fat, to alarmingly fat, to pretty fat, back to circus fat again for some reason, but finally just to chubby. It didn't help that I jogged alongside the circus caravan all the time.
"Only the horses run alongside," they said.
"You saying the horses get something I don't get?"
"No, you get a car all to yourself to sit down in. Why did you choose to butt in on another conversation?"
"Pfff," I said. "Pafuhfffffffffffff."
I sure was challenging them a lot. It feels good to win. Feels good to be right and prove it. I stand up for my rights.

You know, I guess I could've stopped losing weight, now that I think about it. I mean, physically I could've. But this was a moral decision more than anything. All my decisions are. I mooned them and made fun of their white-trash heritage for a long time as I ran alongside the caravan.

While I was showing them what's what, running alongside the caravan and flirting with dehydration, I noticed something.
"Maple-leaf?" At first I thought it was a dehydration hallucination. I'd had them before. Last time I thought I saw a cactus trying assassinate Barack Obama. They gave me such guff for diving on Obama. Give the guff to the cactus! I'm a hero! Bureaucrats...

The point is, it was Maple-leaf! Reunited at last! He'd been on display as "The Only Horse We Have with Four Legs", which speaks to the poor quality of the other horses. Sure, some of them had wooden legs that made it look like four, but it's not the same. Real horse legs don't come from stolen construction site materials.

We chatted for a little while, then both agreed that we could probably do better than this circus. I have my background in vast knowledge of the universe and he's a pretty fast horse, so there are good job markets for both of us. Dwelvin and Jelvis gave us very fair severance packages, especially considering we'd both resigned. I told them to fuck off. Happy ending for everybody.

Oh, and Maple-leaf had ditched me on purpose.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Terrible News

Well, I solved the hair problem. I got laser removal over my whole body at once, with one big giant laser beam. And boy did it hurt. They gave me those tanning goggles to wear so as to protect my eyes, but I thought I looked like a boner with them on so I cast them aside.

"You're going to want to wear those, Mr. Jass," the nurse said. (I'd told her my name was Hue Jass. Hehehehe...) I told her to eat me, or something impolite like that. I don't know. It's not up to me to keep track of every impolite thing I say. That's unrealistic and I don't have nearly enough space to keep the records.

Anyway, she sighed and rolled her eyes and walked away. And later overcharged me. It's ok, I deserved it. I've been pretty cranky for a while and it was wrong of me to take it out on an innocent hair-removal assistant. I tried to apologize to her later, and she said it's ok and started telling me she's been having a rough time too. I thought we were having a moment so I went in for a kiss, and that's when she hit me with a black jack. I thought, "Really, a black jack? That was unexpected." But I didn't get a chance to voice that because her boyfriend, the hair-removal doctor, was pounding the crap out of my face when I woke up. I don't think he's a real doctor.

The point is, the size of this laser was huge. I mean, it got my whole body. I look like one of those people with Alopecia. You know, like a hairless freak. Also, I have no idea how to spell "Alopecia". I don't care. That's another way I'm insensitive towards people afflicted with Alopeesha. Which I look like I have now.

Naturally, my first thought was "Yes!" because now I have a huge advantage as a swimmer. That was after I had the thought about looking like a freak. I hadn't really been a swimmer before, but now that I was smooth as a dolphin that had been sanded down and waxed, I figured I'd have a leg up on somebody. Just one person, for christ's sake, give me one advantage on somebody. I was also reminded of how much I wished I was a dolphin. That made me sad. Then I remember how they often suffer horrible deaths at the hands of tuna fishermen. That cheered me up, because that's not happening to me right now. But then I got sad again, because hey, I have some empathy. Then I thought about using my wiener like a shark fin, so it'd be the only thing people saw coming for them as I back-stroked towards them in the ocean. And that cheered me up quite a bit. "Heeheeheehee," I thought. "Heeheeheehee."

"What's so funny, Mr. Jass?" asked that phoney hair-removal doctor. That cracked me up.
"Nothing. I was just thinking funny stuff. I wasn't laughing at your terrible, weak mustache or your high-pitched girl voice, if that's what you were thinking. Although, hahahaha, it's a very funny voice."
"Mr. Jass, I --"
"Bahahahahaha! Hoooo.... Hahahaha! Hehehe, hoo, ha... hoo... whew. Ha..."
"Are you done, Mr. Jass?"
"Ha! Stop! Hahahahaha! You're killing me!"
That went on for a quite a while. In fact, we didn't get any work done that day because by the time I was done it was 7pm and time for him to go home. I was his first appointment of the day. He had to cancel everything else.

A few appointments later we finally got the job done. The trick was, he knocked me out with a black jack. I asked if that's where his assistant got his. He said after my first appointment they got two, so that either of them could strike me with one at any time. I gotta say I respect his forethought.

If he'd left the room to go get a black jack, I probably would've gotten bored and wandered across the street to get pizza. I'd done it before. The only reason I don't do it now is because they said I can't come in with a hospital gown and no underwear on anymore. I told them, listen I'm a paying customer and I deserve the same respect as every one else. All they said was to "please cover my scrotum. This is a Chuck E. Cheese and blah blah blah..." They don't deserve my business anyway.

So, as you can imagine, the hair-removal "doctor" was none too fond of me by this point. I tried to patch things up with a Hallmark card, but I accidentally got him a funeral card. So it was weird when I winked after he read it. Only made things worse.

I should've worn those boner-looking goggles, because now I don't even have eyelashes. It looks like there are tiny mouths around my eyes. Now, I find this attractive, but it seems like ladyfolk don't. I know because I thought the assistant and I were having another moment when she handed me the bill, and she hit me with a black jack even harder that time. And I woke up to an even more brutal onslaught. I should probably sue or press charges or something, but I don't want to get the cops or courts involved because of the "Hue Jass" thing, which is called fraud. But it's damn funny. Way more so than hitting me with a black jack. I mean, come on, seriously? A black jack? You probably have to special order those from some 1920's weapons memorabilia catalogue or something. I don't know - an "obscure weapons that no one will believe you have" catalogue. Some kind of catalogue. Maybe online.

I need some eyelashes.

Friday, May 27, 2011

This is the Deal with why I Smell

I argued against having to come back here to Earth - fought tooth and nail. I beat the giant tooth but there's really nothing you can do once the giant nail gets the hammer on its side.

"Fine," I said. "But if you send me back to Earth, do NOT make me a human again. I never wanna see a human again. Unless I can eat it. Maybe that'd be ok. Make me something that eats humans - a cow. No! - a polar bear. They eat humans. 'Petey the Polar Bear', they'll call me. Cute name. 'Petey the Human-Eating Polar Bear'. I like it." And they agreed.

Except I think they only half-listened, or half-tried, or something. Maybe they did it on purpose. I was impatiently checking my watch a lot and I dragged mud into the Transformochine as they put me into it. The mud got transformed into sand. Also, at the time, I was in the habit of calling them assholes all the time.

Long story short, I came back as a half-human half-polar bear freak. (the long version involves a detailed explanation of particle physics, trans-terrestrial biology, and a kind of boring part about what I read in the waiting room. Time Magazine.) To call me ugly would be an understatement. To call me the most hideous abomination ever puked over would be an overstatement. But if I had to err on one side or the other, it'd definitely be on the abomination side. In fact, I'd err strongly on that side, because it's a pretty accurate description, really. Not an overstatement at all, now that I think about it.

When I say "puked over", it's because a lot of people puked over seeing me. Polar bears too.

The polar bear women would have none of me. I felt so rejected. Plus, being half-human in the Arctic is not very functional. I was cold. I became the laughingstock of the polar bear community. Pukingstock too. I only had one date, and I'm pretty sure she was just using me because I knew how to steal the fish out of the research station's cooler.

I told the guys back home how it was going, and they turned me totally human, which was cold - bitter, freezing, -40 degrees cold. I told them, and they made me into one of those freak wolf-man looking hair people. I explained that that's not what I want, and that I want to be a total polar bear, you assholes. Then they said they couldn't hear me, but I think they were only pretending because of the "assholes" remark. I'll show those assholes, I thought. They can hear my thoughts.

Did you know polar bears are the smelliest animals on the planet? It's true. They left that part. I'm still smelly.

They put me on Canada, the northern part. I had quite a time getting down south. I had to stop to buy Nair so many times. One guy shot me with a silver bullet, and he came in for the kill I said, "I'm not a werewolf, you asshole!" Then he shot me again. He had understood what I said, and even believed me, but I had called him an asshole. Some say I should stop doing that, and I respect where they're coming from. But then, hey, they are assholes, so screw 'em.

Eventually my smell knocked the guy out. When I say "eventually", I mean "quickly". There's a BIG upside to being repulsive. It disarms Canadian gun-owners. Works every time. American ones not so much. They've built up a tolerance to horrible stink through years of middle-American culture.

To give you some closure, I'll just say quickly that I pawned the silver bullets (both silver! yes!) after I tore them out of my torso, knocked a Mountee off his horse and then rode his horse to lake Michigan. I used the silver bullet money to buy oats for the both of us, and at this moment I'm sitting in an unsecured wi-fi hotspot using a laptop I also stole from the Mountee. The horse's name is Maple-leaf.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Great... (sarcastic "great" - not a real one.)

Well, shit. I'm back on Shit Planet, as I call Earth. I called it that in my official reports back home. They told me to stop. I said no. They said, "You will do as you're told."
"Like shit I will," I said.
"Stop saying 'shit'."
"No way. That's the only good thing I got from that planet. That word. And I stole some underwear off a guy while he was wearing them. Didn't take his pants off. But that was more about the experience than actually getting the underwear. Let me elaborate."
"Well you're going back," they interrupted sharply. I was just about to elaborate.
"Like shitting shit I am. Shit hell shit no."
"Now you're just doing it because you can."
"So shit what?"

They didn't like my attitude. I called them assholes, they got hurt, said that I'd only proved their point, and then I agreed that I could see what they were saying and promised not to ever call them assholes again. They were right. I was out of line.

Anyway, the assholes on my home planet saw the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still and were like, "Hey, Ron, that movie's got a point. Go do that." That's when I started calling them assholes again. It only took about 5 seconds. And to be fair, I had to burp, otherwise I would've done it sooner.

So here I am.

Then they all agreed that it was nowhere near as good as the original and poorly acted - the remake, that is. Then, when I chimed in that no studio today would respect the intelligence of the audience enough to make something with the depth of the original, they really laid into me. I'm back on Shit Planet for a 5 year stint. I don't know what that equals in your Earth years. 5, I think. Here's my thing: What do they want to defend the studios for? It's the studio's fault the movie sucked!

Question - how the shit am I supposed to build a goddamned indestructible robot?

Saturday, January 1, 2011


I'm outta here. Thanks for nothing, Earth.