Friday, August 04, 2006

All-Purpose Prayers

Having been raised Catholic, I was raised on many all-purpose prayers: The Act of Contrition, Hail Mary, Our Father, Your Uncle... There's a guano load of them. So, in that tradition, I've come up with some all-purpose prayers of my own. Only mine are better, because they're shorter.

1. The Sportsman Prayer -- Oh Lord, please don't let me look stupid. Amen.

2. The Handyman's Prayer -- Oh Lord, please forgive me for the cursing I am about to do.

Actually, the Handyman's Prayer could work for all sorts of occasions. Please forgive me for the stripper I'm about to give a dollar to. Please forgive me for the stoplight I'm about to run. Please forgive me for the taxes I'm about to cheat on...Oh, wait, that's not a sin.

Going Dry Cleaner

So, I was just wondering... What if, instead of being postal workers that always went berserk, it were, say, dry cleaners? Aside from most people's avoiding dry clean only apparel, would we go around saying, "Wow, dude, you don't want him going dry cleaner."

Which brings up another poignant question: Why doesn't anybody ever say, "Going Presidential"? Off hand, I can't think of any profession that's killed more people. They've got postal workers beat all to hell. But I guess that's what civil service will do to you.

Get Rich Slowly Scheme

Yeah. Yeah. I know that most people want to do it quickly. But that's where I figure I've got the edge.

A background history: Back in the '70s... Hey. I know that I lived through the '70s because I have documented proof that I was born in the '50s. And I get it from good authority that the year right now is 2006. And by the way, my documented proof comes from the government. And if we can't trust the government, who can we trust?

Any way, back in the '70s (Ahhh, the '70s) I had (and still do) an extensive collection of LPs. For you youngsters out there, that means Long Play. You know, big record albums that are played on a turn table. A needle, usually diamond, scratches along the surface of the album in the one long groove, and those scratches translate into sounds -- loud, raucous sounds commonly known as rock and roll (alternate spelling: rock 'n' roll).

At any rate, in one of those lucid moments rare in the '70s, I thought to myself, "Self, there's a diamond-tipped needle scracthing the piss out of your favourite Bee Gee's album." Now that in itself wouldn't've been a bad thing, but it was also scratching the piss out of my favourite Pink Floyd album, too (which happens to be Wish You Were Here, but I digress).

So I says to myself, "Dude, eventually it will scratch all the way through to the other side. And that would really suck, since most B sides are really not worth listening to. How can you keep that from happening?"

And then the thought occurred to me: Lasars. If somehow you could bounce a beam of light off of the record album, then the record would never wear out.

And then the lucidity ended. Which is why I'm still trying to find ways to get rich.

I've had many good ideas, like legally changing my name to Void. That way whenever somebody voids a check, it's mine. I also thought about making a musical group and calling it Many More. That way whenever there's a record offer on the TV and they say, "...and many more." they have to include my song. I know: Pure genius. And I don't even want to talk about vitamin fortified beer.

All of this has led to my latest scheme: Stealing ice.

I'm really proud of this one. You go to a grocery store and buy a bag of ice. When you get home, you take the ice out of the bag and put it in your freezer, so it won't melt. Then you freeze a whole bunch of cubes and put them back in the bag. And then you return the bag. You tell the store that the ice is defective. You wanted cubes and they're not. A squarish hunk of ice is not a cube. You've had geometry, or whatever.

What choice do they have but to give you your money back? You got your money, and you got their ice. Then you can rebag the ice and sell it yourself. Free ice.

Of course, you probably can't hit the same store more than, say, three or four times, but how many stores are out there that sell ice?

Wow. Pure genius.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

A History

And there arose
a religious class,
pious and gentle.

Who, after time,
garnered many followers.

And they became the Overlords
of those followers.

And soon
they became the Overlords
of everybody else,
whether they were followers or not.

For surely it was righteous
to force others to follow,
for they had the Truth.

But after time,
many forgot
just what that Truth was.

And they rose up against each other.
And much suffering and death
were the result.

And surely,
all would have perished
had not the very wisest of the Priests
remembered just what that Truth was
that they all had forgotten.

And that was
that there was no truth at all.

The Only Way It Could Be

Hitler's in Heaven,
it all seems so clear.
He's eating pork chops
with Golda Meir.

Somewhere, Right Now...

Someone is using their Phd. to develop a better tampon.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Somebody Has to Make It

Look around you. Everything that is there (pretty much) has to be made somewhere. Which brings us to: A toilet paper factory. Somebody has to make, so somebody has to work there.

Who makes sure the end of the toilet paper has just a little bit of glue on it so the roll won't unwind before you get ready to throw it in a tree...or whatever you do with your toilet paper? Even if it's automated, somebody has to make sure the bottle's full of glue...or whatever.

Who does quality control? How do you do quality control on toilet paper?

Is there vintage toilet paper? I get this vision of a toilet paper being like fine wine. The vintnor, with tears in his eyes... "It is... It is the finest paper I have ever made. Unpretentous...just a slight feels like the down on a newborn sheep."

OK. That's just about as far as I want to go with this one.