1-17-08
Well well well, you've found yourself yet another blog. Now your probably saying to yourself, why do I do this to myself? I mean its not like I don't have enough on my plate without somebody else heaping on an extra helping of lobster bisque. Maybe its just some steamed prawns with garlic herb (a seasoning made of plant parts, which if made properly, not only guaranties omnipotence but down right ensures a hefty return on any and all investments made prior to October 1994). Oh by the way, if you don't care for run on sentences and conversational grammar/style just stop at the end of this really really really really long sentence cause thats allllllllll you're going to get out of this blog baby.!.! Now that that's out of the way where was I? Oh yeah why you read these blogs by all these people who ......thought trails off)
Please note that all spelling and grammatical errors are not only intentional but are legally mandated per supreme court case DSN-456-y8-990 (People verses Pam Kumpy) This case was brought before the court by Pam Kumpy during the twilight hours of the Carter Administration. Mister Kumpy was found guilty of being an excellent student and then a really big wussy after she spelled everything right and even used an adverb correctly. The court wrote in its statement that the world was way to fucked up to be worrying about wussies making the Russians look good. Instead, they elaborated on some of the finer points of judu technique that had been demonstrated to them during the deliberation break by master Judu expert Bei Yo flee Rye. One justice in particular was impressed by Flee Rye's ability to not mess his hair up when performing elaborate take downs on the court's only female justice. Just a quick side note, the unnamed female Justice and Flee Rye had a brief and torrid love affair during a transatlantic flight which resulted not only in the birth of twins (the brothers from Double Dragon) but also a new Federal law prohibiting the use of reverse cowgirl on any flight over two hours in length. It turns out that the plane's dehumidifiers could not keep pace and was forced to land in Scotland which everybody knows is only fun for a little bit. Annnny ways, I now have the right to spell anyway I deem fit!
My name is Dan Kramer but you can call me any of the following names/titles/slams/phylogenetic classifications/or racial slurs : Prince Dandrake Manchild of Freedom, Reverend Youngblood, Chatzilla, Bling Danister Danister the super strong Canister of cool power flower and french toast secrets, The gifted Brother of a Forest Elf, Danimal the DIY Dead Shot, The Rampage, Colonel Anti-Sports, Sex Gym, The Klafterty Komedy Hour-minute, Mystic Mouse Clicker, Campaign Finance Reform Hypocrite, Danisaurus Mex, JaRasta, Stabbinson Crusoe, The Toothcommunity, Powermountain, Primp Horse, Dick Ticket, and any other name your tiny little brain can conjure from its bong resin addled neuro pathways. Now that that's out of the way where was I? Oh Yeah when is any of this going to make you money!!!!
Well I'll have to answer that question in my standard three part micro-drama method. Each of the segments of the micro-drama consists of four lines of three thoughts inspired by the first thing I hit with my car each day on my mad dash to the train. Now for the untrained, each of these thoughts may be a bit intimidating..............good, I don't pander or negotiate with the weak, stupid, ugly, anyone who's been to Antarctica, mouse-ka-tiers, roman grecos, back stabbers (those not currently under my employ), diseases, unrest, political upheaval, Sucrets lovers, excessive packaging, bathrooms without mirrors or ones with shitty metal ones that dumb assholes scratch up and use those geeky drippy paint markers on, "sky" Scrapers under two stories high, or people who still have that old fucking Nokia phone that looks like gum should come out of it. This blog is for the pure and fascinating people of the mighty city state of Kramerica, a realm of which I am its master/overlord who rules with a wrought iron (strong yet decorative) fist. Methinks that some may be worthy to read further betwixt thy royal blog's lines, to these cake eaters I salute you and will only tax your land holdings a mere 63.5% as a gesture of friendship. Now some may cry out that I have gone too far. That I have taken not only matters into my own hands but all matter as well. To those brave and unfortunate souls I answer this, lets party sometime I think you'll start to see things from my perspective, and really who are you to judge.
Now down to the business at hand .....My review of PM Dawn's breakthrough hit "Set a Drift On Memory Bliss". First let me state for the record that when Gawd created the Earf he did so to spite his step father who had forgotten deity-teacher conferences. Gawd's mother was, at the time, distant and moody. She had for some time now, been feeling guilty over her one time affair with the cosmic milk man (the affair was both passionate and brief and is fondly referred to as the "Big Bang"). When Gawd's father began to suspect his wife's infidelity, he confronted the cosmic milk man.
"He man," Gawd's Father said to the milk man one day outside the black hole factory where he worked, "Is there anything I should know about going on, you know, anything you'd like to get of your chest?"
The milk man hesitated for a moment and a curious glint of guilt flashed across his face. "Nope..... just same old same old you know. Full bottles in, empty ones out. Is there something wrong with the milk? Thinking of switchin back to 2%?" the milk man forced a chuckle but quickly stifled it when Gawd's Father slapped the milk crate from his hands and milk began to spill slowly over the cosmos , eventually creating the milky way.
"Nobody's switchin shit, and lets KEEP it that way! You hear me MILK man!?" The liquid anger dripped from his eye's, these it turns out were the first tears ever shed by anyone, and that's why we cry when we're upset.
The Cosmic Milkman decided this would not be a good time to bring up the past due status of the angry man's account and quickly excused himself, leaving the grief stricken man alone to ponder his situation. Gawd's Father concluded that he had over reacted and decided to get back to work. As I had mentioned earlier Gawd's Father worked at the local Black Hole factory. Back in the day the manufacturing of black holes was heavily subsidized by the space government and it seemed like everyone wanted and needed black holes just not in their back sector.
It was Gawd's Father's job to make sure that interstellar zoning regulations remained friendly towards continued Black Hole construction. He traveled far and wide assuring people that Black Holes not only were safe but profitable. Concerned citizens would confront him with questions and concerns regarding just where did all the stuff go once it was dumped into these bottomless landfills. He would smile and tell them that the important thing was that it wasn't cluttering up their galactic landscape anymore and that though the actual science was classified, the matter had been thought through quite thoroughly by some of the most attractive and rich people in the universe. This answer seemed to ease the minds of about 95% of the folks and the other 5% were given all expenses paid tour of the nearest black hole site and conveniently forgotten about.
The truth was nobody really knew what happened to things once they entered a black hole. We now know that anything going into a black hole (dead stars, planets, candy wrappers, CRT monitors, John Lithgows's jowl trimmings, etc) end up being converted into a rare form of matter called Dork Matter which then reappears in vast abundances at Renaissance festivals, live action role-playing (LARPing) gatherings, on the set of Home Improvement, in any one's house who still uses Friendester, and in extreme concentrations at Dave Matthews Band (DMB) concerts.
After work Gawd's Father went to relieve some stress at his favorite strip club. The Strip club was called the Androgynous Zone and it catered to a highly selective clientele, namely straight men who enjoyed the site of a naked man. Initially these men were outcasts in society until a race of hyper dimensional space strippers were discovered in a small town outside of Atlanta. These space strippers were unique in that their sexes where reversed, aka the men looked and acted like human women and the women looked and acted like human men. This tidied up things nicely for people like Gawd's father and produced some wildly popular fashion and cultural fads (tube tops, spray tans, the french braid, beef jerky, and toilet paper) There remains today on Earf some descendants of these space strippers, an obvious sexample of which being the White Stripes.
It was only after his second bottle of Merlot that Gawd's Father realized that he had forgotten something, but what was it? He went over his mental check list for the day: Glue heel back on dress shoe--check.., Delete Internet History Cache----check....., Rent "When Harry met Sally's Insane Ex-Boyfriend" (not to overshadow the eventual prequel but it was pretty good) --- check.....Work...Strip Club...Mail Birf Day Card to Great Aunt----check----check----and check. "Oh Noooo!! Gawd's Deity-parent conference!!!" He blurted, causing more than one stripper and client to look his direction with that "been there done that" look. He gathered his things said his teary-eyed goodbyes to his stripper Lady Thomas, and stumbled to a space taxi.
By the time he got to the space academy it was locked and dark. He spent the space taxi ride home practicing crying and hoped it would work on Gawd as well as it had the milkman. It didn't. Gawd never forgave his father and the next weekend made the Earf. He then shrunk himself down to human size and started a new life for himself on Earf. For thousands of years he wondered the Earf waiting for the Internet to be born. That day is today and Gawd is me, well actually he paid me to write down his story, cause I guess he never really learned how to read and write, something having to do with the fact that its stupid, (his exact words). As Gawd stands next to me as I type this, the smell of Silver Wolf gin permeates the room, and the sweet innocent sounds of Herb Alpert echo these hallowed hallways. I can only guess where he will go next and who he will find to blog about his story, cause it ain't gonna be me sister not after the horrible back rub he just gave me.
Until next time my loyal readers this is DAN KRAMER..
