Gone away for the summer

Well, not gone away, I am still around. Just warning you that updates will be less than weekly, apparently starting several weeks ago, for some time yet. Nothing serious, just stuff to do. Julia bet me that I could not compose a guitar-song in esperanto, so not only do I have to learn Esperanto, I have to learn to play guitar. I got a guitar, but apparently it is not as easy to play as Eric Johnson makes it look. I still need a name for my guitar. That is an important part. I am thinking Marlee. Or Lady Sally, something like that. Anyway, I will be back when I am done. See you.

A Perfect Brainstorm

Young: I think you are all wondering why I called you here today.
Julia: To talk about ways to improve your Blog?
Young: Exactly. Bright girl.
Ashley: You wrote it on the blackboard. Where did you get that, anyway?
Young: I know a guy.
Ashley: A guy who sells blackboards?
Young: Yes. Well, a guy who was fired from Glenn Beck. Alright, ideas. There are no stupid ideas. Except those of the boards former owner.
Mark: Make it more like The Boondocks.
Young: A subtle satire of the interplay between races and their cultures?
Mark: I was thinking more racial humour. I can call you Crackers as much as I want, because I am also white. And I know a black guy, and he might give me permission to use that special word that they always beat up your cousin Heinrich for using.
Young: Thank you, Whitey Shafer, for that example of a stupid and quite possibly racist idea. And I doubt that anything gives you a free pass. What else.
Julia: Ponies!
Young: Next.
Ashley: A longer, more coherent story filled with subplots that intertween and eventually smashes together towards the end?
Young: I don't wanna write all that down.
Mark: These two in bikinis.
Young: Ashley.

¨
*Ashley broke the taperecorder on Marks head, after this, so the rest of the meeting was not recorded*

Momento-us question

You know that desease from Momento, where you can only remember a few minutes at a time? My cousin Harold got that. He bumped his head and spend a week at the hospital, and has been calling around to thank people for the letters and flowers he got while he was there. My question is, how long before it is okay to ignore his calls. I mean, he has been calling to thank me for the letter every day for almost two years, now, which is a lot of gratitude for a yellow stickynote that says "Get well" on it. My mother changed her number, but that is not an option for me, as I worked hard and bribed many to get a number that kinda spells my name. A couple of letters are missing, since my name is longer than a standard phonenumber, but they were unwilling to give me a special long number.

Another movienight

Went to the cinema, yesterday. I saw Avatar. Well, since I can't actually go to the cinema and watch Avatar, I saw half hour of the home-shopping network, an episode of the Smurfs and Dances with Wolves. I haven't figured out how to do the 3D effects yet, so I just wore sunglasses.

I am thinking about wathing Sherlock Holmes. Well, Snatch and an episode of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, anyway.

I have been warned that I should stop making fun of Sex and the City

And that if I should ever again suggest that when Sarah Jessica Parker and her husband have an intimate moment the theme from "The Lone Ranger" plays, I will be beaten to a bloody pulp by an enraged flock of women.

Been watching some TV

I have been watching some Sex and the City, and I think I know what it is about. It is about four elderly prostitutes, trying to have sex with everybody in the city of New York, hence the title. There are four maincharacters: Old Whore, The Horse, The Redhead and the Dull One. Then there is Gay Friend, who is the only guy in the tri-state area they have not had sex with. Not for a lack of trying. There is also Redheads Babbydaddy, Wienerguy. The Horse writes some sort of newspaper column, or she probably dictates, it must be hard to write with hoofs. I am not sure if the Dull One is filling her quota, but The Whore goes way above and beyond the call of duty. And they get nude a lot. A whole lot. Especially Old Whore. And that is about is. There are some sexscenes, then people talk about sex, then they have some more sex, then they talk about it again. Then they seduce a guy, have sex with him and talk about the sex. The end. Every episode.

Operation Rockin' Out

Ashley: What the hell is that noise? Is that Led Zeppelin?
Young: Denby. He is trying to smoke me out, Noriega style.
Ashley: But you love Led Zeppelin. You once tried to lure Jimmy Page over here, by writing him a letter claiming that there would be groupies and cocain in the diningroom.
Young: I was a fool. He has enough of that at home.
Ashley: But Denby doesn't know that?
Young: If he did, I wouldn't be rockin' to the Zep right now. After this one, it is some Van Halen, and after that some Guns'n'Roses, and then it is noon and the neighbourhood rules say that you are not allowed to play rock loudly after that on a saturday.
Ashley: So it is not really that effective, since he can only do it on saturdays, between nine and noon.
Young: I learned a couple of new bands. I never really liked Ozzy before. And I never heard anything by ZZ Top. They are pretty good, actually. Metallica still sucks, though. So I yelled out, "I love Metallica", and he hasn't played any since.
Ashley: What if I want some U2, for example?
Young: Don't you dare. While I like U2, they are not exactly hard rock. This is my Rockin' Mornin'. A fitting replacement for Saturday Morning Cartoons, since they stopped showing good cartoons.
Ashley: Lets rock.

Rent-a-Room

Ashley: I got this really big huge pretty-please-with-sugar on favour I need to ask.
Young: Ask away.
Ashley: You got this empty room that you don't use, right?
Young: I got two of them, why?
Ashley: Well, my parents sort of own the house I live in now, and now that I earn well, they either want me to buy it or leave so they can sell it. And I can't afford to buy and maintain a house, even if I earn pretty well, and I have been looking for apartments, but they are all a million miles away, or real crapholes, meaning that I would have a two hour commute to work or live in a craphole, but if I rent from you, I stay in town, with a fifteen minute drive.
Young: Oh, alright, Julia will hand you the official renters manual.
Ashley: Renters manual?
Young: Yes. A 350 page tome of rules, regulations, pricing, cleaning scheduals, dog walking scheduals, and music and words I do not tolerate under my roof. And if you plan on having sex, we need to be notified, to prepare ourselves for the oncoming storm of potential sex-noises. Moans, slaps, strange noises, what have you.
Ashley: Fine. Deal. Whatever. Wait, you wrote a 350 page manual just for Julia?
Young: Don't be silly. Julia is not a renter. She gets free room and board. Because she works for me.
Ashley: Alright, yes.
Young: Sign here. Excuse me, the door is ringing. Come in.
Mark: My girlfriend kicked me out.
Ashley: You lived with your girlfriend?
Young: You had a girlfriend?
Mark: No, I didn't live with her. We were together for a week. Then we broke up, and she sued me for Palimony. Got everything. All I got are these clothes and this TurboGrafx. She didn't want it.
Young: Can I have that TurboGrafx?
Mark: Sure, go right ahead. Can I crash here, for a while?
Young: Yeah, I think I got a spare room. Ask Julia for a renters manual.
Mark: Right. But if I hear as much as a single joke about me being a "rentboy", I will pound your head so hard that you will get a headache whenever you sit down.
Young: You can't. Ashleys contract clearly states that she will protect me against any and all harm, as long as she lives under my roof.
Ashley: What?
Mark: She lives here too now?
Young: Yes, two different people ask if they can rent a room for me, on the same day, minutes apart. If I did not know better, I would say that this was the work of a tired hack writer, desperate for more situations in which to put his characters.
Ashley: I will bring my stuff over, or, the stuff there is room for.
Mark: I got my stuff in this trashbag.
Young: Take the room on the left.
Mark: Left?
Young: Right.
Mark: Right?
Young: Shut up and go to your room.
Mark: To the left or right?
Young: Left.
Mark: Right.
Young: Left.
And so we continued for a few minutes, until we felt that the joke had run out of steam.

Those who can't...

Ashley: You would not believe the day I have had.
Young: Welcome in, Ashley. Sit down next to me. Have a beer, tell me about it.
Ashley: I am already sitting next to you with a beer, telling you about... Oh, you. Anyway, I was told that it was not enough to swear and insult students, even though that is a big part of my job, I told him that in no uncertain terms. I have to give them something practical to do, so that I know they are doing progress. So, I had them write a paper on ancient babylonian insults.
Young: Were they big on insults?
Ashley: Yeah. There are stacks of books on the subject. I skimmed one of them, and they were filthy, those babylonians. My mom would have washed their mouths with soap, all of them, and she is a woman who casually drops f-bombs and c-words left and right. She even invented her own swear word, so nasty that I am saving it for third year students. Anyway, today the papers were delivered.
Young: So why aren't you correcting papers right now?
Ashley: Why would I do that? I got TAs to do that.
Mark: What, you give someone a peek and they do your work? Ow, that hurt.
Ashley: Teachers Assistant, and you know that. I don't want to swear, since I hate to work at home, but you should know better than to crack jokes like that.
Mark: You get it? I was talking about...
Ashley: I get it, don't make me punch you.
Mark: Because TA sounds like T'n'A, which is short for-
Ashley: I hope you learned something from that punch. Dude? Lazy, knocked-out jerk.
Young: You have to clean up after that.
Ashley: Aw, but it is his blood.
Young: You knocked it out of him.
Ashley: Aw...

Crazy like a Fox

Julia: Who is that crazy guy on TV.
Young: Hm? What channel are you watching.
Julia: Fox News, it says.
Young: What guy is it? No, it doesn't matter. All of their hosts are the same. Let me explain...
Julia: I was just flipping between channels during commercials. Friends begin again in two minutes.
Young: Just long enough for me to finish my point. See, a stable of comedy, or any entertainment, is the character. Someone other than themselves for the audience to connect with. The three stooges had the Leader, the Follower and the Fool. Stephen Colbert has the well-meaning but uninformed fool. Moses Gill had someone able to lead a state...
Julia: Again with Moses Gill. Leave Moses Gill alone, he never did anything to you!
Young: Anyway, when Sean Hannity, for example, wakes up, he is Sean Hannity. When he goes on air, however, he becomes a parody of those who watch his show. A satire of his target-audience. He mirrors what he sees. An uninformed, willfully ignorant, partisan, paranoid, hatefull jerk. It is the same with all of them, almost. Gretchen Carlson was valedictorian at her high-school and went to Stanford. Now she makes a living by pretending not to be able to spell "Gretchen".
Julia: Oh, geez.
Young: Yes, it is terrible.
Julia: No, the man on TV is crying.
Young: Like a baby?
Julia: Yeah, exactly like a baby.
Young: Like a big, fat bawling baby with a bad haircut and eyes like a pig?
Julia: Yeah, exactly like that.
Young: Oh, that would be Beck. He is legally mentally disabled. They let him on air as part of a deal with an institution, in order to get the mentally disabled out into the world and work, to make them feel good about themselves. I like the throught behind it, but I am not sure that it was a good idea to have him talk politics all day. I mean, people are gonna get tired of-
Julia: Shh! Friends are back on.
Young: Alright, just gonna sit here, reading my book in peace, not saying anything.
Julia: Shut up! I think Ross and Rachel are going to get back together.
Young: For the seventeenth time?
Julia: No. Nineteenth. Shut up.

Back from holiday vacation (or, I still have a blog?)

My new year promise. To write more on this blog. Heck, the entire reason for its existance is to get me to write more and I have not been holding up my end of the bargain. No sirree Bobberick. And for that, I apologize. Not to my millions of adoring readers, who love my personalized brand of eccentricity and stir-crazyness. To the blog, you see, who is probably bored out of its skull. Poor little blog, out there all alone, without even a little christmas poem to keep it up. But fear not, I am back in black. Or, black pants and a white T-shirt, anyway. It is a brand new decade. This is the future. We are living in the future. When I called to tell my sister that, I was baselessly accused of being drunk. And I had a tough time calling her a liar, since I was holding a glass of rum and coke, at the time. But I stand by my assertation. It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy. Let's go explore it. Or, you go explore, and return with your findings. I will be waiting right here. On my couch. Bring me a can of coke, if you happen to go explore the cornershop.