I finally learned what a “meme” is!

It turns out that “meme” is just a fancy word for saying something interesting about Chuck Norris! Like, “Chuck Norris has roundhouse kicked more people than he can count.” I thought “meme” had something to do with college. Wrong! With just a little research, memes come so easily! Who knew that being officially clever required so little effort? Watch:

Chuck Norris was born Carlos Ray Norris. Perhaps he goes by Chuck because he was ashamed of his alcoholic father, Ray.

Chuck Norris’ parents got divorced when he was only 16! Maybe he learned to kick things in half when he was 15!

Chuck Norris’ younger brother died in the Vietnam War!

Chuck Norris divorced his wife of 30 years in 1988. Ten years later, he married a woman the same age as his oldest son!

Chuck Norris’ daughter, Dina, was the product of an extramarital affair! She was 16 when she informed him of their relationship, and they met when she was 26!

Chuck Norris believes that the Earth is only a few thousand years old, and that people once lived with dinosaurs!

Chuck Norris believes homosexuality to be “aberrant”!

Chuck Norris founded the martial arts school of Chun Kuk Do, an anagram of Chuk Dunk-o and Chuk n’ Kudo! Who is Kudo?

Chuck Norris’ fifth rule of Chun Kuk Do is “If I have nothing good to say about a person, I will say nothing”!

Bad ass! How do I get these up on Chuck Norris’ blog?


Ganymede: The Story of Ganymede

Can you believe that that title isn’t a movie yet? It’s gonna be, though, because I just thought of it, and I need some money.

I haven’t decided exactly what it’s going to be about, though. I guess there was some prince a million years ago who was named Ganymede. He was either Greek or bisexual, but not both. If I remember correctly, it was sort of a Classic “Incredible Journey” tale—his father, who was not Greek, abandoned a golden retriever, a Persian cat, and a 28-year-old Ganymede beside the road somewhere in the Rhodope Mountains. The retriever became separated from the rest and was lost almost immediately, and the cat was accused of witchcraft by some villagers (and was very likely killed, if not actually killed and eaten… Greece, you know?), but Ganymede made it back to Troy within the week. I think he met Hercules at some point.

The other option, of course, is to tell the story of he original Ganymede, the largest moon of Jupiter. It doesn’t have any resident aliens, unless they’re invisible, but legend has it that just below the surface the planet may be made of solid gold. So I’m inclined to go this route, and just have the movie be Ganymede (the moon): The Story of Ganymede (the moon). I don’t see any characters entering the story, though, which may be difficult for people to deal with. I suppose Ganymede (the lost boy) could show up at some point. I’d probably kill him off pretty quick. (No one likes a glory hog.) Maybe he could fall into a steep crater and hit his head on a rock. And as he slides down the crater wall, his path reveals the tantalizing, buttery gleam of gold…

Mid-blog interlude!
I finally got to feel what it’s like to be hit by an exploding airbag yesterday! It was okay. You can only use them once, though, before they have to be replaced. If I had known that was the case, I would have planned my evening totally differently, and maybe saved the airbags for a party or something.
Interlude over!

So, remember yesterday’s entry? I bet you do. Unless you found this entry on Google, while searching for “Ganymede: The Story of Ganymede.” In that case, you’ll just have to scroll down, or something.

Anyway, some of you remember that I posted that awesome drawing of Africa with a big butt crack. Again, it was created for one of my other jobs, but I retain rights to all my art, and so I didn’t see any problem posting it here as well. Little did I expect that the problems would come from my job, not my personal internet diary. It just so happens that I’ve been working with at least one cheesedick, possibly more. Said cheesedick(s?) saw my art, and became insanely jealous. That, or they have some personal attachment to the continent of Africa, and refuse to admit that it could possibly have a butt.

That’s stupid, you know. All continents have butts. Or at least cloacae. (Australia is the exception, and with no outlet for its waste, it has simply adapted so that it can repeatedly consume its own effluvia.) Africa is one of the few continents lucky enough to have both a vent for liquid waste (the Congo River) and what can more accurately be called a “butt.” (I’m referring to the Nile, of course, because it occasionally goes both ways.) North America, on the other hand, only has the Mississippi cloacal vent and that massive gall bladder, the Hudson Bay. Bleh. I’m throwing up a little bit. At any rate, these misguided sidewinder missiles at my work attempted to get me fired over it. It didn’t work out, though, which was fortunate. For them. Because, if it had worked out, I would have attempted to kidnap their pets. And my attempts never fail. Don’t believe me? Call up the humane society, and ask them what percentage of the animals I turn in are glued to other animals. (I’ll just tell you: one hundred percent.)


Upgrading the lexicon

As if I knew what "lexicon" meant. That one's for next year!

But I did just learn what "holla" means. It's pretty much just the latter day version of "ahoy!" I can deal with that. Ahoy, bitches, ahoy!

Sorry about the lack of bearded presidents. I've had a few legal issues with the Whitehouse, and, more significantly, I dropped my mouse in the bathtub.

I did, however, just draw something the old fashioned way for my other job. Here:

Basically, what we have here is the continent of Africa with pants and a butt crack, or an "intergluteal cleft." There's a story behind it, I'm sure, but I think we're all mature enough to simply appreciate it as a work of art.

Also, I recently entered a writing contest! I won't say where, because I feel that might be cheating, nor will I reprint the entry here, because I'm not made of ink, but here's the gist: a violent psycho-sexual fantasy. Not mine, necessarily. It's all puppets, at any rate, which are notoriously difficult to direct violent psycho-sexual acts at. (When it comes down to it, all you're really doing is grinding against your own hand, and, believe me, I don't have enough soap to deal with that. And my pastor has to be getting tired of hearing about it.)

Ding! Times up!

But hold your breath for more presidential beards! They could come any week now!
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