What Break a Razor?

Golly, nothing makes a man like a nice goatee.

A goatee is like... like...
It's like you took a drink from the hairy Pool of Man, but instead of sipping its water from the Cup of Girl you just lay down in the mud and stuck your face in it.
Or like all your anger squeezed out from the pores around your mouth, and then hardened into hair.
Or like your chin was so covered in the juice of the apple of original sin that dust and crap just started sticking to it.

I'm afraid that I don't have a goatee myself, but, then again, I've always thought of myself as more of a "boy."

An Enemy of God

Now, as some of you no doubt already know, Sundays are my "Thinking Days." Today was (is) Sunday, so, naturally, when 11:45 came along, I got out of the tub and put on my Thinking Cap. I used to wear the Thinking Cap in the tub, but I found that the color tended to bleed a little when it got wet, and the small benefits putting the cap on early provided just weren't worth it.

I began today's session, as I often do, by thinking about my enemies. They are many, and they are ruthless. Like fire ants, or killer bees. Also like fire ants and killer bees, they are easily managed with poison.


When I run into my enemies, or when they run into me (which of us is the hunter, and which the hunted can be difficult to distinguish), I usually react in one of three ways: A) I embrace them warmly, so as to put them off their guard
 (this frequently allows me the opportunity to sprinkle or inject them with any number of potions as well); B) I threaten them with fire and personal injury; or 3) I say this: "You make an enemy of God, you make an enemy of me..." I have always been very satisfied with this line. I think it leaves my enemies wondering what they did to offend God, thereby removing focus from me. Also, a large part of some of our more successful foriegn policies have been based on this idea, and I have always considered myself a patriot.

Today, however, under the Thinking Cap, I began to question the whole idea of option 3. The more I considered it, the more likely it seemed that I was as wrong as can be -- that the more accurate and frightening line is perhaps, "You make an enemy of me, you make an enemy of God..."

First of all, this statement is more than likely true, and while it doesn't distract from the original conflict between me and the enemy, the offending party will be left, well, paralyzed with dread at the thought of an angry God. Having God back you up is like having Andre the Giant, or Zeus, as a big brother. Plus, if anything really bad ever did happen to one of my enemies, like getting food poisoning, or struck by lightening, the rest of them would always be wondering if it was God that did it, and what he might have up his sleeve for the next one. Probably a flood.

Cookies make me stronger. Call me a liar, I dare you!

Y'all have heard of "poop creek," right?
Well, not actually "poop" creek. It's a different word, I just don't like to use it unless there's a really good reason.
Anyway, I just found out that "Poop" Creek is a real place! For really real! It's in Indiana, and it's called Poop Creek for a reason: the obvious one. Also, it turns out that almost all those "poop creek" expressions you hear people use have basis in real fact. Really real fact! For instance, "up 'poop' creek without a paddle" originally came from a story about a Poop Creek ferry operator (back in the olden days) who dropped his paddle in the water (I guess it was his first day) and had to paddle after it using just his hands. His hands got pretty gross from doing that. And the paddle wasn't great either, I guess.
Or what about "Take a long drink from poop creek?" That one is in reference to the poorer people in the village of Poop Creek, who were forced to get their drinking water from the creek instead of the town well. I read that there actually was more than enough water for everyone in town in the well, but the wealthier people didn't want to share the water with people who smelled so bad. Kind of a catch 22, when you think about it. Still, I can't blame them - I don't let poor people drink from my well either. It's kind of a status thing.
"Dead in poop creek" is another one. They used to toss dead animals into Poop Creek. And sometimes people would just pass out from the smell while they were taking a drink -- those people would usually die too.
Isn't history amazing? I mean, none of this speaks very highly for Indiana, but it's not as if Indiana was exactly in the running for "Best State." So let the research continue!

Oh, also, Cripple Creek is a real place too. But it's not called that for the reason you probably think.

The King is Dead. Long Live the King.

Well, Oscar season is upon us, and I think it's high time we pay our due respects to the dearly departed.
"The dearly departed" is, in this case, a singular. I can't imagine caring less if that old harpy from Driving Miss Daisy died again. No, I'm referring, of course, to Jack Palance.
I'll bet a lot of you didn't know that he was dead. I can't blame you, really -- who thought he even could die? We all thought he would just keep going on and on, growling and squinting, until he just faded away, hopefully on horseback, and in the arms of a very leathery woman.
Alas, fate is too cruel a mistress to allow King Jack this final, dignified departure from mortality. No, Jack Palance, on November 10, 2006, was killed by his own chimpanzees, bleeding to death after having his genitals torn from his body.

Jack Palance's "Jungle-mania" chimp sanctuary is more or less common knowledge, I think. The name can be misleading, however: "Jungle-mania" was, more than anything else, simply a large cage containing three chimps, located near the back of Jack Palance's compound, or "Rancho Jacko," as he called it.
Anyway, he loved those three chimps, and made sure to visit and feed them several times a week.
But November was a bad month. Rancho Jacko is in Montana, and a cold chimp is a grumpy chimp, and Jack himself had been battling the blues for some time, after the less than spectacular DVD sales of Prancer 2 and The Incredible Adventures of Marco Polo. My personal theory is that Jack was afraid that he might have to sell the chimps, his friends, and he was displacing anger on them.
Reports from the neighbors have him throwing himself against the outside of the chimp cage, late on the 10th, and screaming insults at them. Unfortunately, Jack Palance's insults and obscenities eventually became so slurred that the neighbors were unable to discern exactly when they must have changed from shrieks of rage to howls of agony. The police were not called until the next morning, and by then it was far too late.

The chimps, it seems, must have siezed Jack by the nightgown and battered him against the bars of the cage. Jack Palance was significantly tougher than the average man, but chimpanzees are many times stronger than any human, and he was very badly roughed up. It was Jack's exceptionally leathery skin that kept his 6' 4", 86 year old body from being wholey dismembered, but the chimps must have exerted special force against the genital region, for they were ripped off, right out from under the nightgown.

Jack Palance's remains, in accordance with his wishes, were disolved in acid during a small service of family and friends. His genitals, however, were never found, and are presumed to have been eaten by the chimps. Many have found this little detail to be somewhat ironic, as Jack Palance's autobiography, "Strength in Anger," states that "Eat my balls" was perhaps his favorite shouted challenge.

It should be noted, as well, that Jack Palance's twin brother, Duke, the star of City Slickers 2, died the very next day, November 11. It seems that he was hit by several stray tranquilizer darts as he attempted to pull Jack's body away from Jungle-mania. The animal handler who fired the darts claims they were meant for the chimpanzees. A criminal investigation is pending. Duke Palance's remains, in accordance with Jack's wishes, have been sent to the Pennsylvania mining country of their birth, and sunk in an abandoned coal mine.

Jack Palance was born Volodymir Ivanovich Palahniuk, and once fell asleep in his square during a taping of Hollywood Squares.

Media Filth

Tonight I saw a sports mascot who appeared to be a condom.
No, not appeared to be, it was a condom. A condom with leaves coming out of its head. If it were born that way, it would be excusable (I knew a kid who was born with a gross hole in his chest, and I didn't judge him), but I know that it was just a person who had chosen to wear a horrible, offensive costume.
Unbelievable. What if a kid had seen that? That kid would be even more screwed up than all kids already are.