Growth Of Thorns
Is it just me or is growth perverted? O Face.
I used to think any form of growth was unsustainable. Just like a perpetual motion machine it’s one of those things that’s impossible. (One of my favorite words.) Then, just now, sitting here, one of my brain cells did something. (It can happen.) For lack of any originality on my part let’s call it my latest theory, k?
Tom’s Theory #42 – Societal Asshole Leech Theory (SALT)
The percentage of leech-based humans is growing over time. Or, the more advanced a civilization the higher the amount of leechage.
As far as we know, there is no causal relationship with the number of pirates known to exist, but admittedly further testing is required. This is a work in progress. (I was on a break.)
98% of all email is spam. Of those messages, 98% attempt to deceive or infect. (The rest merely sell growth products like Viagra, the greatest achievement of our civilization and, dare I say, the entire universe and space-time continuum.) My web server is probed and attacked by cyber-terrorists (mostly from China and Russia) 36 hours a day. There’s an entire subset of humanity that does not have jobs and produces nothing of value yet still has food, shelter, cigarettes, pets, cars, smartphones and internet access.
Is this amount of leechage really on the rise or is it merely my touchy empirical perceptions?
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Covers
This is where it all happens. The exact spot where the Death Star exploded. Strap in or you’ll find yourself floating home.
It’s late. So late that it’s already dark out. I’m sleepy from sitting in front of the TV for six solid hours under a blankie and shoveling down an entire container of ice cream. Like a zombie I stumble to my feet and stagger towards the bedroom.
“Need… sleep… now…”
No one ever claimed that eloquence is my strong suit.
Finally I reach the doorway and lean against it for support. Must rest. Almost there. Stay on target. Stay on target.
Then I glance at the bed. The covers are completely gone. Nothing but a naked mattress and box springs await. And that’s not exactly the type of naked I had in mind.
Nooooooooooooooooooooo!
Shut up, kid. It’s not like Obi Wan just got bisected with a lightsaber.
“Wha? Where?”
“They got washed. The rebel dryer containing clean bedding will be in range in 15 minutes.”
“But I wanted to sleep now!!!”
Why do sheets have to be clean? For that matter, why do we have to sheets at all?
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Girls Day In
My wife in action. (Actor portrayal.)
There was a sense of strange foreboding. My wife had control of the remote. Boldly and apparently to no one in particular she announced, “I’m going to pretend that I’m home alone and watch whatever I want.”
Wow. So assertive.
The TV came on and the Netflix logo loomed large.
It was a cozy Saturday afternoon. The kind of day for which I live. Outside were blue skies. Inside the sunlight streamed in windows. It was quiet. We were basking in the luxuriousness of nothing to do. My wife snuggled up in her TV blanket. I did the same. Cats were lounging around and purring.
These are the moments of which dreams are made. I believe it is times like these that make life worth living. No work. No responsibilities. Safely ensconced in your castle. Nothing to do except stretch out under your blanket. The rest of the world can wait.
Where the hell is my damn cup coffee with International Delights creamer? I want to celebrate this, one of the moments of my life!
And it was all going so good, too. Perhaps a little too good.
Then she pointed that thing at the TV and pushed PLAY.
This shit just got serious.
Netflix! Is there anything it can’t do? I mean besides show me a list of “Recently Watched” titles?
Choices
What do you want out of life???
I don’t know if I’ll try to answer that question. But I do know this: Watch both Zeitgeist movies, a few choice TED videos, and finish it off with the Story of Stuff and you might just say, “Brother, it sure as hell ain’t this!” And then depression sets in…
In my study of gerbils I have pondered mysteries both great and deep.
For Abyss newbies:
“Gerbil” is the term I have coined for younglings that fail to empty nest on schedule. And then, later, when they belatedly emerge from the nest sans high school diploma and any discernable life plan, they do things like go on food stamps, obtain medical marijuana cards (sore back), drink lots of alcohol, sleep until 5pm, stay up until 5am, take pictures of themselves smoking and post them on Facebook, and avoid jobs, school and self-improvement at all costs.
That’s the modern genus of gerbil that I am familiar with.
A Rush song famously said, “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” Indeed. The modern gerbil lifestyle is a choice!
I took a gerbil aside one day and offered words that I thought, in my hubris, might somehow be wise.
Trust me on this. It ain’t easy coming back from a gerbil bite.
Forever Albums
The Undercity. Once upon a time I lived here.
This morning I said to myself, “No damn politics on the blog! Enough!” I then sat back, cleared my mind and let my consciousness wonder. The tweet above was the result. My brain came up with the idea of marshmallows and chocolate bars having a rumble in the street. Random, I know! From this the lame and grisly thought above got expressed. Too bad Twitter doesn’t have a retroactive time warp function.
Then I checked my “recent drafts” on WordPress to see if there was anything worthy of being finished. Weird, but none of the 267 candidates there showed promise.
So, here’s a totally random post about music.
Back when I worked in the Big City, a group of guys would get off work and head over to Bennigan’s for $1 draft beers and munchies. Yes, this is also the site of the famous Night to Dismember. But that’s another story.
One day I went to the jukebox. It played CDs. Not records. And it had the option to play an entire CD from start to finish. So, when no one was looking, I selected Clint Black. An album called Put Yourself in My Shoes. And I played the whole damn thing. It cost money but it was worth it. Back at the bar everyone was bitching. Who the hell was the asshole? I lamented along with the rest of them, playing along, but inside I was laughing my ass off. For some reason a bar full of young posers becomes really upset about country music.
I like music. I like it a lot. And I have varied and eclectic tastes. My collection ranges from death goth metal to bluegrass. Gilbert and Sullivan show tunes to gospel. Rap, soft hits, Air Supply, Alan Parsons, The Beatles, Elvis, folk, etc. Some genres (like rap and gospel) I am very, very picky but some still find there way into my collection.
Like Ricky Skaggs. I’m a superfan. It seemed like there would also be at least one hardcore religious song per album. I didn’t care. I’d sing along with those songs just as much as the rest of them. “Sinners don’t wait before it’s too late / He’s a wonderful Saviour you know / Well I fell on my knees when I answered my pleas / Hallelujah, I’m ready to go.” Singing songs like that can also be useful for freaking out your friends.
Sometimes you come across albums where you lik every single song. Even the ones that never went on to become hits or even get played on the radio. I often wonder how these things got decided when there were better songs on the album than the ones that got released as singles. Back when I was a kid, we bought albums, not individual songs. If you only go for the promoted singles you’ll be missing out on a lot. Anyway, if every song rocks, then I call it a “Super Album.”
So what is a “Forever Album?” I personally have known two.
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Streets of a Certain Width
Note: I was going to entitle this On The Street Where You Shiv but apparently I already used that for a different post.
I’m not sure why, but the city gave the developer permission to make the streets narrow in the subdivision where I live. How narrow? If you are an expert driver and can balance your wheels on the curbs, you’re just able to navigate a normal sized car while hovering six inches above the ground.
Perhaps I exaggerate just a skosh. I claim the right due to umbrage.
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Political Comic: Personal responsibility on silver platters
Am I the only one who noticed something logically odd about what comes out of Mitt Romney’s mouth? There are some strange juxtapositions afoot.
For example, consider this:
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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