Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Seal penis is a hot commodity
Monday, March 24, 2008
Too soon?
The homicides in Iowa City today were the doings of an embezzling banker under indictment. This guy killed his whole family and was found dead (probably, so they say) in a burning van. So, after I read the actual news story I had to Google Earth this guy's house. The ambulance and black police jeep were still at the house, just like in the news story picture. This happened way out on the East edge of town. The most interesting thing about this incident is that they're calling it a "shooting" but nobody heard gun shots. The stories say found "dead" as opposed to "shot." So naturally, I started thinking, "If this guy didn't shoot anyone, how did he kill his wife and all four kids?" There are some pretty creative ways to silently kill five people, mind you. I've gone over it in my head at work in the dish room of the Burge Marketplace, which, I find, is an ideal place to dispose of a body.
Ravi struck at 22:32
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Again, I am kind of sore. Apparently I danced quite strenuously in my drunken stupor on Saturday night. This time it seems to have been a buns workout. I have to say that I did not plan on getting anywhere near as blitzed as I ended up getting. It was those blasted Irish car bombs. Absolutely delicious and loaded to the brim with liquor (when made by Dave). I only mention this because it resulted in the worst Easter ever. Not only did my stomach and coordination disagree with attending a feast, but my sitting-at-homeness allowed for a certain video game predator to come over and not let me be hung over in peace. I suppose he provided plenty of Easter grass but overall it was an unpleasant afternoon.
And what did I learn?
Next time I come home and Dave is already wearing a robe and latex gloves, I will think before taking his advice.
Ravi struck at 12:08
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Like a baseball glove
Damn. I am really, really sore. I definitely worked out. I keep finding myself sitting down and rubbing my aching muscles for sometimes up to ten minutes. I tend to make a lot of moaning sounds which, through walls, could no doubt be misinterpreted as sexual gratification. But it feels fucking amazing. I am pretty sure, anyway. Sometimes I think it might be a painful sensation. If it is, it hurts so good. Sort of a pain/pleasure melding into one, Hellraiser kind of scenario.
I know that if one works out for long enough the soreness will eventually decrease and subside. This saddens me. My newly discovered bliss will inevitably diminish into actual muscle mass.
All I want right now is a massage. Right on the ribs under my arms. Every time cousin Tony on the Sopranos mentions massage therapy it makes me want it that much more. Somebody with hands get over here. I'll give recompense with biscuits.
Ravi struck at 18:32
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Tenderoni
I had a werewolf dream last night. Contrary to popular belief, it would not be all that bad to be a werewolf, according to a new study conducted by my brain:
- I was working in Burge. I was not doing food service, though. I was sitting in the lobby monitoring a little TV screen, and this was my job. I even clocked in for it. On the TV screen was some kind of news program about this man putting a bomb in one of the Burge dorm rooms.
- While feeling great relief I left "work" 40 minutes after my sheduled time.
- I walked across an expansive plane area for awhile and came to a hill where everyone was congregated. There was a little tree there and this whole area looked a lot like where that dude finds that bag of money in No Country for Old Men. On this hill everyone (probably a couple dozen people) was told to run to the house in the distance and find a hiding place. We were informed that if we failed to hide ourselves properly the werewolves would find us. With that, we cheezed it.
- I was one of the last ones to get into the house, so all of the hiding places were taken. Reid was there and he turned into a cat and left... so I guess he got away alright.
- While I was frantically looking for a place to hide one of the female werewolves entered the house. She was still in human mode, and kind of foxy. She was actually quite friendly. I remember:
WEREWOLF: All taken, eh?
ME: Yeah, I guess. So, you are going to, like, Thriller rip me apart, or what?
WERE WOLF: Why, no! All it takes is a little scratch. Here.
The werewolf took my arm and just knicked it a little with her fake, red fingernail.
- I then started turning into a werewolf. It didn't hurt at all. It didn't take very long, either. I look pretty awesome as a werewolf, let me tell you. I started doing this thing were I was still in control of myself, but my perspective was in third person. I could change the angle of the "camera" just like in Grand Theft Auto. That was pretty trippy.
- I ended up in this huge mansion place, where my job was now to hunt the foolish humans that chose to venture inside. You see, the first floor was a movie theatre. They could be down there all they wanted, but if they came upstairs...
So, dream analysis: this dream has been a result of three things: Getting a new job, recently working out to Chromeo, and and being around Ashley.
This dream has two obvious job components, the first taking place where I now work. I don't know what feeding on foolish humans has in common with painting, however.
Yes, I have recently been working out to Chromeo. But, define "work out," right? A lot of double-time sock poi and some push-ups (which kind of hurt my wrists). I go until I can feel that shitty muscle fatigue feeling, then I just dance to Chromeo, then I repeat the cycle as many times as I deem fit. Is this "working out?" If you're me, yes. Why am I working out? It would serve me well to be able to lift more things. Anyway, werewolves experience a lot of physical change. I doubt these work out sessions will stretch into next week, but perhaps the werewolf thing will serve as motivation.
What has Ashley got to do with this scene? Well, if it wasn't for her there is no way I would have recently seen Beauty and the Beast. In this dream I change into a beast and I guard part of a mansion. That is a BLATANT reference to B 'n B. That, and we usually like to spend our full moons together, feasting on foolish humans.
Ravi struck at 12:48
Monday, March 10, 2008
It's goin' down in ye olde pub
Some of you may have caught wind of my discontent with my current course of study, but I think the griping may be coming to an end. The English major, currently and looking down the road, is so boring it makes me want to cry. Old English, on the other hand, is sweet. It looks sweet and it sounds even sweeter. Beowulf is pretty tight, too. I just decided a few minutes ago that I will one day be an expert in both Old English and ebonics. A double-threat, combining the new with the Old. You see, with this knowledge I could either "ride" with all tha Westsidaz or transcribe texts in an Irish castle. If that's not freedom, I just don't know what is. Fuck applying feminist theory to Shakespeare (no offense, Will). Those bitches need to chill. I want to sound like a Norse warlord and live in Europe. Nah mean?
In other news, I performed a puppet show in front of a Karl Rove protest press conference yesterday.
In other news, I performed a puppet show in front of a Karl Rove protest press conference yesterday.
Ravi struck at 12:35
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Timmoneeee!
I had a really long, intense dream last night and I only remember the very end of it. Get this:
An (I am estimating) eight-foot-tall retarded person wearing a shitty Optimus Prime costume won at something (I think) and pushed his eight-foot-tall retarded companion to the ground. The Optimus Prime Gigantotard then jumped up with a triumphant fist in the air and yelled, "TIMMONEEEEE!" The whole scene was tinted a slight yellowish color. Now that I think about it, this guy looked kind of like the giant burn victim dude from House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devils Rejects. Tiny is his name, I think. I don't know what "timmonee" means (tim-oh-knee), or how to spell it for that matter. There may very well be a silent "H." Given the context, I ask Johnson Inc.: How would you define this phrase?