Category: Musings

It’s hard to believe the stomach starts out as the size of a fist. I think I have about three fists in there! — Larry Bakken

You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t post anything for a couple days—I picked up a nasty bug over the weekend and my ability to sleep through my alarm and several hours past has been pretty impressive. Plus I don’t want to hack something up and get gooey stuff all over my keyboard. Hope you’re all feeling healthy and I’ll be trying to get to that point by next week so I’ll be nice and chipper and mostly conscious when taking the bar exam. Wheeee…

I’d like to offer my apologies for the website croaking yesterday. I wrote about what happened when it happened and figured it’d explain things today. (Beware—foul language approacheth… like that’s ever stopped you from reading something before…) Continue reading “All systems are down!”

I’m in one of those moods again. No, not for grabbing little puppies and using them as sponges to help clean my back in the shower. That’s reserved for special occasions… like Wednesdays. Since today is a Tuesday, it’s safe to let your dogs out of the kennel for a walk. Just don’t take too long—I’m heating up the water as we speak. And that’s by turning up the temperature, not making use of the hellfire-style chili I ate last night. Heating up water and shooting fireballs out of my sphincter are two very different things, one of which is much more hazardous for any puppies that might be involved.

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious that the studying is going to my head, all right. Little bits of knowledge getting smooshed together, trying to find little cracks and crevices in my brain tissue and hanging on for dear life, hoping that I’ll keep them around for another few weeks until the bar exam. Once that’s over, it’s a quick burst of head-shaking and kapoof! They’re all gone, Etch-a-Sketch style! Naturally, I’m trying not to wiggle my head around too much before then. As much fun as I have mimicking the bobblehead dolls in my room, that might screw me over even worse than when I did it in the kitchen and bashed my head against the counter. About fifteen times until the bobblehead stopped moving. Thankfully, there was only a family gathering that night, so I could get away with “Hey there!” instead of admitting that I couldn’t remember my mother’s name. Or my name, for that matter, but I try not to talk to myself too often in public. In private, though… I’m glad the puppies can’t tell stories.

Sitting here and reflecting, I’m pretty sure that there isn’t any steam coming out of my ears from overheating. There might be steam coming from other places after dinner last night, but not my ears. Of course, it’s hard to tell with headphones in there—if I pull them out and they’re sopping wet… hopefully, those little bits of knowledge haven’t drowned. I could be charged with negligent brain-cellicide and get stuck in the slammer for a couple hundred years. As if banging my head against the counter didn’t count for slammage and brain killage. (Making up words is fun when you’re a little loopy…)

Oh Lordy… Hopefully, that’s enough for tonight. I’m feeling better, my stream of consciousness hath runneth dry and I don’t think a puppy shower will moisten it enough to soak down my headphones. Things might change within the next four hours, though, so don’t push your luck—keep the dogs inside. And watch your cats while you’re at it—remember, variety is the spice of life. As long as it’s not as spicy as hellfire-style chili, I might give it a shot. But given how well cats react to water, those claws might leave a sensation nearly as painful. I better keep them away from my sphincter. And probably my brain, too. Slash marks in my head results in nuggets of information pouring out of my skull and I don’t want to have to relearn everything if I can help it…

I think Wendy’s is the restaurant that’s promoting its Dollar Menu by comparing the food to money (”A speeding ticket for 60 junior cheeseburgers?!”). Aside from the premise being rather stupid, there’s one comparison that could be reeeeeeally dangerous to make: “Honey, you look like a million crispy chicken nuggets!”

Why dangerous? Because the Dollar Menu is really a 99 Cent Menu and some women might take offense to a man saying, “Honey, you look like $990,000! Just add a little makeup to cover the bags under your eyes and you’ll look like a cool million!” And then he’ll be stuck eating alone at Wendy’s for the rest of his life… but at least it won’t be too expensive.