Wednesday, August 16, 2006

The Hippies at Woodstock

Well, I just spent a few days tearing up the home front, and adding to my written chronicle (the widow's miraculous never-ending jar of oil--that is, my potbook #5--ran out of oil, so Elijah had to buy the widow a new jar of oil [that is, I finally ran out of pages around page 456, which was still a really great miracle on its own, so I had to buy a new notebook, and it is Volume #6 of the written chronicle]).

And I held my friend's 3-month-old mixed baby and played with her, and drank cheap champagne from the bottle (as is my custom) with The Great Magga while watching Cops and CNN and the Cartoon Network while partaking in That Which Is Most Dear To Us, and it was quite great. And also I saw the original Woodstock on tv, and all these hippies were lying on the ground while their stomachs moved like caterpillars, and then they tried to ward off the rain by the power of their thoughts, but it failed.

AND there is a new season of Flavor of Love, which is like the best and most addictive guilty pleasure ever, and Magga and I watched the first episode on Tuesday night, and this really voluptuous broad of the African-American persuasion actually shat herself in front of everyone, and it was outrageous.

Haa, I just saw a headline that said, "Reckless Mascot Overshadows Bush Debut," and I was like, "Whaaaat?" Apparently the Tennessee Titans' raccoon mascot (mascots in general are very creepy to me, because often they seem to hide deviant personalities) was careening around the field in his golfcart during half-time and tossing gifts into the crowd, when he ran over the Saints' quarterback, and he (the quarterback, not the raccoon) fell down and suffered a lot of bruises and had to be removed from the game. "Who DOES that?" I said to my brother.

And sometimes I just really love to eat grapes.

In the restroom line at the Phoenix airport, I heard this older broad say to this younger broad, "Well, you don't want to set your bag on the ground and get fecal matter on it," and I started laughing, and so did they, and we were all very jolly together, and the older broad said, "We've been traveling for too long now."

Haha, that is all.
And I am not a Christian Scientist.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Super Halal

A very pretty Latina broad walked into the restaurant. "Ohh, mamacita," Armando said to me. Then he held up his hands and said, "Hey, I am human," and we laughed long and jolly laughs.

Unlike at other restaurants, employees are not allowed to take cigarette breaks, but if you are Muslim you get to take prayer breaks, which is actually a better deal because you can take 10 or 15 minutes to pray, and take your own sweet time as well. Ramin pretends to be going on prayer breaks and then sits on the roof talking on his cellphone to his wife instead, or making up new raps.

The new floor manager Salaam forbade us from chewing gum while at work, which I will do anyway because I got away with it for 2 years at a private Christian school without getting caught once, and have learned the craft of being discreet. "We should stop calling him Salaam," I said to Armando, "and start calling him SADDAM!"

And in Arabic the word of greeting is also Salaam, and if I ever call out, "SALAAM!" then people get confused and think I am yelling out a greeting.

And people are always trying to talk to me in different languages, some in Arabic because they think I am Algerian or Syrian or otherwise Middle Eastern, and some in Spanish because they think I am a Latina broad, and it is very confusing.

Apparently at this Middle Eastern market called Super Halal Market in DC (apparently halal is the Muslim equivalent of kosher, and the animal's killing gets blessed by a Muslim priest, which I doubt makes any difference to the animal because it is still getting KILLED), this guy ran behind the deli counter and cut off his own hand with the meat saw, and started to freak out (I read about it in the Washington Post).

I said to Ramin, "What would you do if somebody ran behind the counter in YOUR deli and cut off their hand?" (because the deli is his domain).
"Hell, I wouldn't care," said Ramin.

And that is all.

James A. Garfield

A chronicle is a continuing narrative.

I walked into the restroom at work and saw that in each of the stalls, there was a roll of brown paper towels instead of toilet paper. I was appalled. "Oh HELL no," I said, and I turned around and walked back out.

Haa, once Jen and I were watching tv, and I thought I saw a van dragging a cross along behind it as in The Crucifixion, and I could not stop laughing (also I was high), but it was actually an anchor, and a commercial for engine oil. It is because I had a religioius upbringing. But the commercial is still hilarious, because it really does look like a cross.

The other day when I was eating my lunch, I said, "Mahmoud, when I sit here and look down upon the store, I feel like I am God looking down upon His creation" (I said His instead of Her because otherwise Mahmoud would have been appalled, and probably freaked out, so I decided to make a small concession to his patriarchal values).
"You feel like God?" Mahmoud said, and looked at me in a strange way.

Dude, the other night I was reading the newspaper, and there was an article about the assassination of President Garfield (he was from around Cleveland, and for some reason a lot of people are really proud of that fact, and they hail his name), because apparently after he got shot he lived for a little while before he died, and the doctors thought the bullet was lodged in his intestines (which it wasn't) so they wouldn't let him eat solid food. And the article says:

"In mid-August, the doctors insisted that Garfield be fed rectally, and he received beef bouillon, egg yolks, milk, whiskey, and drops of opium in this manner."

Haaaaaaaa. What a horrible thing. Who DOES that? When I read it, I was so horrified that I read it out loud to my mother, who was in the next room, because it was so outrageous and bizarre and disgusting that I had to tell someone right away, in order to share and diffuse the horror. She said, "Oh, that's disgusting!" and later she said, "Well, when I'm old, I hope you don't try to feed me beef broth up my butt," and I said, "MOM! I would never!" And then I cut out the article and saved it, so I could read it at my own pleasure, and laugh.

I really love learning bits of useless and bizarre but interesting knowledge, and then carrying them around with me. Like, about how Hitler was addicted to laxatives, and Stalin's sex life, and stuff like that.

And then Garfield got all malnourished and lost over 100 pounds (he must have been kind of voluptuous beforehand) and died anyway. I am so glad I did not live back then, because doctors were just dumbasses, and abortion and birth control were illegal so women had to use foolish teas and suppositories and dubious methods, and also they had to wear corsets and all these petticoats and pantaloons and other foolish undergarments, and it was just a horribly patriarchal time on all fronts.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness," I just told my brother in an old-woman voice after I cleaned the counter with bleach to kill and deter ants.

This bar lets you take a shot — at the waiter:

Nanjing's Rising Sun Anger Release Bar encourages patrons to take a swing

BEIJING - Stressed-out Chinese can now unleash pent-up anger at a bar that lets customers attack staff, smash glasses and generally make a ruckus, a Chinese newspaper reported Monday. The Rising Sun Anger Release Bar in Nanjing, capital of the eastern province of Jiangsu, employs 20 muscled young men as "models" for customers to punch and scream at.....Wu said that since he opened the bar in April, most of the patrons have been women, especially those working in karaoke bars and massage parlors. Uh, that is a really terrible idea. It just promotes discord in the world. And whoever heard of such a thing.

Haa, that is all.

Hillary Tells Rumsfeld About Himself

I cannot stand iced tea, but I do not disparage those who do.

I hate iced tea as much as I hate country music, and board games, and raw onions, and the Bush administration.

"Because of the administration's strategic blunders and frankly the record of incompetence in executing, you are presiding over a failed policy," said Clinton, D-N.Y., a possible 2008 presidential candidate. "Given your track record, Secretary Rumsfeld, why should we believe your assurances now?"

YEAH, that's our broad, and she just told Rumsfeld about himself in front of Congress. If I had been there, I would have said, "Mmm-HMMM!" in an emphatic black-woman voice, and then added, "Girl, I got your back." But actually I would really hate to be involved at all in politics, because it seems like such a boring thing, and it is populated by such assholes, and a lot of them are patriarchs as well.

Dude, when I saw this headline back in March in the artsci lab in Eads, it made me laugh out loud:
Haaa, who DOES that. I can't decide if I should start boycotting silk or not, because I am not sure how much it harms the silkworms. It is a vegan dilemma.
That is all.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Saddam And Osama's Secret Love Nest

Once at a rest stop in western Ohio, there was this tabloid magazine whose cover said, "SADDAM AND OSAMA'S SECRET LOVE NEST!!!!" and it showed a doctored photo of Osam sitting and smiling serenely while Saddam reclined in his lap with a sensual grin, and I now really wish I had bought it. Because it Saddam and Osam were having a secret gay love affair (even though I know it is not geographically possible, because Saddam is in jail in Baghdad and Osam is off in the Tora Bora mountains with his crew), it would be, like, the greatest and most pricelessly funny thing ever.

"NOBODY in Afghanistan speaks Arabic!" Ramin said to me, as if it was an outrageous thing.
"But Osama is there, and he speaks Arabic," I said. "How does he manage himself?"
"He rolls with his own crew," said Ramin.

Dude, this was an excerpt from a bizarre article on

But what about those instances where there's no opportunity for eye contact or sizing up, like the time a fellow darted across four lanes of traffic in order to hand a cassette full of Christmas music to Jonathan Shipley, a 32-year-old writer from Seattle. "He told me he couldn't keep it because whenever his wife listened to 'Joy to the World,' she heard children being strangled in the background," says Shipley. He says he's had many such run-ins over the years, including a recent beating aboard a bus by an umbrella-wielding transient who felt Shipley should be "writing it in his mind" instead of on his laptop.

Well I have never heard of such a thing. And now I will probably think of that when I hear "Joy to the World," and it will be disturbing.

"And that, in itself, boosts her faith," my mom just said into the phone. I was like, "whaaat?" Sometimes she says things that do not make sense in any context.

You know that part in Mary Poppins when all the guys in the black clothing and makeup sing, "Chim-chiminy, chim-chiminy, chim-chim-charooo"? I always thought it was very, very creepy.
"Sage, you have eyes like a radar," Mahmoud said to me. Armando and I often have nightmares about work, so we share them with each other, and exchange sympathies.

I just saw a news photo of 3 Chinese policemen clubbing a dog to death with long sticks, and it was unexpected and appalling, so I will NOT include the link. Apparently they killed 50,000 dogs in southwestern China because of a rabies outbreak, and only military and police dogs were spared. That is a terrible thing to do. I am not the world's biggest lover of dogs, but it still grieves me when they die, unless they, like, killed a lot of children for no reason or something.

In China they often have disasters of a great magnitude, like the avian flu and mine explosions and pollution events and floods and SARS.

Yesterday I saw a voluptuous African broad (she had just gotten off a plane, and was very hungry) with the most prodigious ass I had ever SEEN. "It follows her like a great BARGE!" I said to Luis, and he raised his eyebrows, because he saw it as well. And he has a great love of voluptuous asses.

And today at work I saw an empty shopping cart careening across the parking lot on its own accord, until it hit the curb with a great crash. It frightens me when carts move on their own accord. It is like they are coming to life and asserting their will.

I wonder if people ever take their carts into the bathroom with them.

When I read online that Bush had passed his annual physical and was found to be in good health, I felt slightly disappointed.

That is all.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

The Coyotes

The Internet is being so deviant tonight. It is really disobedient to my will.

I just smoked outside in the night, and I saw these coyotes trotting up into the hills carrying things in their mouths, and they looked just like joyful medium-sized dogs, and I thought, "Uh, let's just be friends here," and I did not display threatening behaviour to them, and they went on their merry way. They have made paths in the hills, so as a gesture of kindness I thanked them for making those paths, which I use as well.

Dude, check it out:
It is true. Last week at work there was this older guy who had that website on his shirt, and I was like, "Whoa, that is a sweet shirt," and he directed me to this site.

Haha, the other day after work I was sitting in the car in the parking lot while my mother was buying dinner, and I witnessed two old people drive completely over a concrete curb. They looked confused, and just kept driving. "These people are crazy," I thought. Some old people just wreak terrible havoc on the road.

"Do you feel RESTORED?" I said to Mahmoud when he returned from his Friday prayers in the afternoon. "Yes, I do," he said.

The old white people two doors down have this American flag on their front door like a warning. And next to them are the 40-year-old lesbians, and on the other side are the Russian broads (but they are not lesbians; they are two middle-aged sisters and a 20-year-old daughter). The older Russian broad has a hearty laugh. Russians are often hearty broads in general. And then there are two middle-aged but well-preserved gay men across the street, and they sometimes walk around the front of their house carrying potted plants and deciding where to put them. Often early in the morning they have seen the coyotes as well.

And a couple of weeks ago I said, "Mom, I had a dream that one of the men next door was black" (which was true), and my mom said, "Carissa, one of them IS black," and I was taken aback, because I had only met one of them (and he was white), and they are cousins, so I was confused.

Dude, on the dumpster behind our apartment was a sticker that said "BUSH KNEW," and I noticed it every time I took out the trash.

And once I was driving with the Jens when we saw a bumper sticker that said, "IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU'RE NOT GEORGE BUSH," and we loved it, and howled with laughter, because it was so close to the truth.

But I usually do not try to think about that man when high, because it disturbs my peace, and raises my blood pressure.

I hate it when I accidentally eat the sticker on the fruit. That happens a lot more often that it should.

"Mel Gibson," I said in a rebukeful voice to the television, when news of his DUI appeared. "What?" said my mom.

And I refuse to ever watch The Passion of the Christ, even though my family owns it. All the movies that my family owns are about either race or religion or both, and it is not a very great selection. And then there is a large collection of Three Stooges DVD's, but I despise that show, because it is not funny.

Moshi is a great golden dog, with compassionate eyes.

And Motor is danceful, and pranceful. Sometimes in my room, she used to look at me with a creepy Mother Mary look, and an fixed stare.

Once at the end of the other Jen's party, Jen called all the dogs to her so they could surround her and keep her company while she was ill in the backyard. The versions of this story are disputed, though, because people had been drinking, and it was very late.

Today Ramin said, 'It's all about the benjamins," but I thought he said, "It's all about the vengeance," and I said, "VENGEANCE?" and he said, "What the hell is that?"

That is all.

A Disco Classic

Sometimes the Internet is just an asshole.
And sometimes it is a witch.

When I came home from work, the house was empty, and smelled like recently-cooked beef. I was not pleased, because it smelled just like my workplace.

And, after my smoke and shower, I am lounging in my household and wearing my sunglasses and listening to K.C. and the Sunshine Band's Greatest Hits cd. It is a disco classic. Armando loves K.C. and the Sunshine Band, and Michael Jackson, and the Village People, and others of that ilk, and when it is quiet in the afternoon he sings along in a high disco voice.

Ramin was shaking his Afghani ass and singing a lewd song, and Armando shook his head and said, "I am a married man, and a grandfather." (it is true, and he is 38, but has no gray hair).

Some trees are tall and skinny and pointed, and look like spirits.

Tasty loves to watch toilets as they flush, and he tries to intrude upon feminine mysteries, and also he likes to stare at naked women, but he does not like to be in the company of more than one man at a time. It makes him freak out. Once our next-door neighbours were in our kitchen along with the Jens and Nick, and Tasty was like, "Oh HELL no," and he fled, and then Jen brought out a very realistic-looking gun, and Nick and I fled the room because we were pacifists and could not bear the sight of violence.

Once at Katie's, we all shot ourselves repeatedly in the thighs and asses with Jen's new pellet gun, which was foolish.

They are all like, "Hello! We are yaks in the snow!"
Dude, that is a website dedicated exclusively to yaks. I have never seen such a thing.
If I had my own yaks, I would hang bells around their necks, and let them roam in the hills and mountains, and graze upon the vegetation, and I would not kill them or eat their flesh.

Today, Armando made the giant shrimp wave their legs and call out my name in little shrimp-voices. He is very perplexed that I do not eat seafood, or drink yogurt drinks.
And some people, like Tristan, just really hate seafood.

In this one area outside San Diego, the residents were afraid of brush fires so they hired a herd of 300 goats to eat all the dry vegetation on the hillsides, because one goat can eat 20 pounds of dry vegetation a day, and in the newspaper I saw all these joyful goats being set free from the center of town and happily eating the vegetation. I thought it was a great solution. If we hired more goats in more places, the threat of brush fires would not be such a problem, and plus the goats could live and be free and not get killed for their meat, because they would be useful to us. It is true.

Once Tasty tried to eat from a pan on the stove, and singed his whiskers.
And that is all.

Dude, this is a sweet online book about a tortoise and a baby hippo who are companions, and they are like, "We love each other!"