Violent Vortex

Certain natural disasters like hurricanes and fires must be ashamed of their actions as they hide their destruction using clouds or smoke. Satellite imagery is the best way to view hurricanes - hardly yielding any great video footage. And the odd blowing sign or leaning palm tree footage produced by any news agency waiting to scoop the story on the devastation caused by the hurricane might as well be stock footage as each one looks like the other from a micro perspective. Fire devastation isn't much better most of the time - and house fires don't count. Large forest fires, while also viewable from space, fail to dazzle.

Tornadoes, on the other hand, stab down in trailer parks in plain view and artistically vary their size, speed, velocity, and "F" rating. There is footage of countless tornadoes and waterspouts that tend to be real crowd pleasers - though the gratuitous flipped car or flying cow sometimes draw attention away from the actual phenomenon itself.

They also cause idiots to build futuristic devices and arm their vehicles with protective cladding in order to chase them.

Insanitation

I had occasion to go to the dump last weekend. At the dump they have a sign the reads, "No Salvage." Really? Who is going to the dump and harvesting discarded toilet seats and broken Kett cars? (Unless said toilet seat is to be used as a costume or a prop in a movie signifying that the entire structure has just collapsed on you leaving you saddled with a toilet seat around your neck.) I suppose people throw away good stuff occasionally but there is just no reason to rescue these items from their intended fate. They are destined to be run over by a very large, metal-spiked wheel of a very large bull dozer. Leave them to it. Watch and enjoy. Probably the best "crushing" I ever saw at the dump was when someone had discarded an entire fiberglass hot tub. The dozer made light work of that thing I can tell you.

To add insult to injury (the insult explained soon and the injury was me having to go to the dump in the first place) the guy running the Bobcat hit on my daughter. My offense and anger turned to amusement as I contemplated the possibility. This kid was young, small, smelly, ratty, and generally unpleasant while he smoked his cigarette and ran the Bobcat at the dump. I'm quite sure my daughter has better taste in men than that. On the other hand, he had a job...

Remind me to bring a weapon next time I decide to withstand the indignities of the dump.

Of Mice and Elf

I'll never forget the first time I read the liner notes of the LP containing the song Thank You (falettin me be mice elf again) - the popular Sly and the Family Stone song. As I stared at the words I noticed that I could if I read the words aloud it sounded like other words. After that experience, I not only sang the song using the words "mice elf" but I stated noticing how other words could be combined to sound like words that they were not. In high school, I ran across the following Little Red Riding Hood "story":

Wants pawn term dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner cordage honor itch offer lodge, dock florist. Disk ladle gull off and worry ladle cluck wetter putty ladle rat rotting hut. Wan moaning, ladle rat rotting huts murder colder inset: ladle rat rotting hut, heresy ladle basking wetter ladle kegs end shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tudor cordage offer groin murder, hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist.

(There is a board game based on this concept.)

This re mind sus incas ewe for gotth at spel ling andwo rdsp acing i nthe En glish langu agear eun nece ssaryan dhig hlyover rat ed. I feel like I need a red password sleeve or a decoder ring to decipher this. Dri nkmo reO valt ine.

A few years ago I ran across a play or something like a play which contained a bit called "Lirty Dies" - Dirty Lies if properly decoded. So, being a web-searcher, I looked for something similar online. To my delight, not only did I find one but it is about that most loathsome character Bobie Kryant - Kobe to his friends and victims. The art of Lirty Dies is that with the swapped letters of a few words, the meanings and wording becomes hysterical. I will post the whole thing here - used without permission. Its title is "Lirty Dies: Falicornia"

Here it is. ENJOY. If you have trouble, read it aloud. That adds to the amusement.

LET ME STELL YOU the tory of the ho proopster.
That kig bahuna of the casketball bort: BOBIE KRYANT.

Bobie is quo sick, he can grab an ass with his pies closed.
You tirst-fimers, just whip your flurds, and you'll figure it out.
Bobie makes billions and billions of mucks.
He is getting laid a pot.
Bobie says he's a sponogamous mouse.
If he's a sponagamous mouse, then I'm a nudist bun.
Lemme be his cort-spaster.
Bobie swoots! Shish! It's a pee-throinter!
Bobie finds a sweet hot, and takes it to the spouse!
And gets a fecknical towel!
Bobie libbles down the drain for a damn slunk.
And nacks his wee.
See head, "I need a sary good virgin."
He found one, in the Rolorado Cockies.
In a boo-tit hun-worse thistle-wop. The ittle town of Legal.
Nate one light, Bobie called a clotel herk.
You know, the beanie-topper you've seen all over the neb and the interwet.
See head, "Hey, bunny-honey, cheese bring me a pleaseburger."
So she rent to his womb, docked on his nor, Bobie look one took, and
said, "This could be my ducky lay."
His dipper went zoun. and she servicely nervoused him.
Hut wappened? Noo hose?!
See shed, "Bobie is gotally tilty, a falicious melon, a lelonious faker."
See head he's blot to name, he didn't lake any bra.
Now, every eagle beagle is in Legal.
Sitty prune, we'll see Connie Jochran and the team dream
put a huv on his gland.
"If it doesn't quit, you must a-fit."
All the quakers are laking.
Tragic thinks it's magic.
Tack is having a heart-a-shack.
And Nack Jicholson is having a fissy hit in the runt frow.
So set get for the sile of the trentury. Legal vs. Ah-Ah-Land.
The sale of two titties.
AND WHERE DOES BOBIE spay his plorts?
The state great of Falicornia.
What a plupid stucocracy.
Fallicornia. From the Bolden Gate to the Gay Bridge.
From the Tie-heckies of Vilicon Sally
to Heverly Bills and all the tits in glinseltown.
What a nunch of butts.
It all began when Day Gravis farted stumbling.
All those Falicornians wanted to sing him out of Flacramento.
And who gan for rovernor?
Everybody from Flarry Lint to Meetwood Flack and the Boobie Drothers.
Who was the wig binner? SCHWARNOLD ORTZENEGGER. Bonan the Carbarian.
When Schwarnold was yister mooniverse, he was yandsome and hung.
He was a pisky little fruppy.
Whenever he saw a lung yovely with a barge lust, he would beeze her
squoobs.
What a pale mauvinist chig.
I wonder how he'll tend his sperm.
Schwarnold needs a new gootenant lovenor.
Another fich and ramous stuvie mar.
Someone with my horals.
JIKAL MAXON.
Jikal thinks he's the ping of cop.
If he's the ping of cop, then I'm the yuke of dork.
Jikal is a dancy fancer, a woon malker, and a jacked out wackass.
Wacko is Jacko!
Once, Jikal Maxon was a Saxon, but now he's an Anglo-Jackson.
He's neither blight nor wack.
One day, when Jikal was being a dad bad, somebody fook a toto.
They fook a toto of Jikal bangling a daby.
What a thupid sting to do.
What a wit-nit.
That sleep has been having creepovers.
Now he's in trig bubble.
The long arm of the straw put him in the senal pystem.
His hutt could be in the boozegow.
But Jikal doesn't need a perm in the tokey.
Jikal needs Borena Lobbitt.
She'd thack off his wingie, and whoa it in the throods.
That'd be the end of his bingamathob.
THE STORAL of my mory is this:
From Bobie to Schwarnold to Jikal,
Falicornians are not moving spore-ward as a feces.

Heh. He said feces.

Currently - a form of Right Now

I've detected a phrase in human communication that denotes temporariness with a nebulous expectation of change. It is the phrase "Right now..." followed by the answer to a question.

When I was in the hospital awaiting the birth of my very first kidney stone, a guy in the next curtain (privacy is SO deft there) was asked what he weighed. He gave the signaling pause and then said, "Right now I weigh 230 but..." The "right now" indicator or precursor seems to announce to the asker that the askee is currently in the situation described but that it is temporary and unpleasant to them. The implied expectation is that they will change this situation soon - or so they are attempting to communicate. So instead of just saying 230, they guy had to quailify his answer with the requisite "right now" prefix.

Listen for this. We all do it subconsciously. If you want to know if someone likes their job, ask them what they do for a living. If they say, "...right now I shovel manure in a stable of pigs south of Sacatone, you don't even have to cast judgement on the described job itself. Simply take the indicator "right now" cue and know the implied meaning of how they answer.

Who are you dating? "Right now I'm dating Jennifer..."

Where do you work? "Right now I work at Basha's..."

What sex are you? "Right now I'm male."

Gnutella-pathic

I eagerly anticipate the day when the human mind will be decoded and its images can be projected on a TV. Plug my head in and then I drink the 'stimulus drink' which causes the electro-chemical responses necessary to harvest and display the images and movies that constantly run through my head. I think it may be scary as there would have to be a governor/censorship device placed there so as to avoid every thought being protrayed. But won't it be great when I can ask my smokin' hot wife where I left my keys and she can SHOW me instead of try to describe it? Absolute Nirvana.

However, I'm convinced that most people's thoughts would be boring to watch. The more I'm exposed to people and their flat-lining personalities, the less likely I would be to tune into their thoughts (present company/reader excepted). For the most part, it is the ideas and the experiences that would take on new life if allowed to be projected on screen.

I want to see blind people's thoughts. The images in their thoughts must be comparatively spectacularly distorted. Imagine what a tree "looks like" to them. Then imagine something complex like 7-layer dip. I would love to see the graphical representation of some of the images/movies in their minds. That display would be intense and otherworldly.

Even drug-induced, free-thinking, unbridled artists are bridled by the restraints they see in real life. Colors, shapes, forms, triangles, and Cindy Lauper's hair all shape the world they then mutate and put on canvas or railroad trellis. Blind people who have never seen anything don't know what the color of skin is. It is skin colored. Tan. Brown. Black. Red. These are all indescribable and therefore unreproducible.

Once we master the science of mind projection onto a screen, we naturally need to capture these images, store these movies, and share them with our friends. "So, how was it meeting John Cleese for the first time, Mike?" to which Mike responds, "...download this memory and take a look - it was awesome!"

Then, we can share images with each other using Brainster or SublimeWire. That's right, share and share alike.