Empty Beanie Blog

The Customary Fate Of New Truths

JMD — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 04:01:58 +0000

Can we all come together and admit that the only reason we’re not allowed to eat each other is because of outdated customs and superstition? I can’t be the only one around here wondering what everyone else tastes like. I’ve thrown over a quarter of my life away and I have even tried anyone. I love biting my nails and the dead skin off of my hands. Is there any doubt that this would taste better in larger quantities grilled over charcoal with a dry rub, and if it were somebody else’s hand?

Now let’s not go crazy. I’m not suggesting that we go chopping off people’s hands and feet and those delicious looking undersides of their thighs. What I am suggesting is that homeless people should be fed to each other until this country can safely claim that no man, woman, or child goes to bed hungry every night. “Well, they’ll be well fed,” you say. “But they still won’t have any place to live.” I have one word for you, my friend: bonehouses.

Aerosmith suggests that we “eat the rich,” but how feasible is that? Not a chance in this anarcho-capitalist society. The rich know what a satisfying meal they would make for the proletariat and they’ve built up big walls around their fortresses, bathing themselves in honey-mustard sauce all day, laughing at our misfortune. While as in contrast, the homeless are sitting outside.

“Well that’s bully for the homeless, but what about the average working class Joe like me,” you say. “Where can I get a slice of Peter pot pie?” I can understand your concern. You wouldn’t pet the homeless, much less eat them. However, people are having limbs removed left and right all over this country, which as far as I know aren’t being taken home to be shellacked and mounted as souvenirs. Would it be crass to suggest opening restaurants in the VA hospitals? Disrespectful? Next to the VA hospitals. Seems downright patriotic to me.

That’s good meat friends. You don’t have to be honoring Quetzalcoatl or lost in the Sierra Nevada to admit you want a taste. Enough with the elaborate ruses! But please no having children just to leash them to a stake to be fattened up like veal and then eaten. I don’t care what these pro-choice people tell you, this is at best tacky and at worst some kind of misdemeanor. However, anything that comes out stillborn is up for grabs. And I think we’re about done here.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Advancing Toward What Will Be

JMD — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 00:49:55 +0000

Because I occasionally like to tackle a political issue, I’ve solved the health care problem in America. What we do is provide free healthcare for all adults and children, but in order to spare expenses, everyone who doesn’t believe in evolution should be denied medical care entirely. Sorry folks, you don’t get to cherry pick anymore. That game’s over, you’re either with us in the 21st century and you get the goods or you’re against us and you’re SOL.

I can’t wait until we prove with science that Jesus didn’t really have special powers, like we find his grave and get his DNA test done and prove that Joseph was the dad and Mary was the mom and nothing magical happened - sorry folks, didn’t mean to waste your 2000 years. You can all go back to your Judaism or whatever but he was just some nice smart guy and Christians have to decide whether they want to live in the fantasy world or if they want to join the rest of us in the progress. But the day we find out about Jesus the human I think we can officially stop giving chemotherapy to these nutjobs.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

The Brilliant Disguise of Impossible Situations

JMD — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 02:17:22 +0000

I’ve always been an especially lazy man, a man who has no interest or ability to develop his personality or exercising and grooming in a way that will make himself more attractive to women. I bring this up because I’ve always had a fantasy of going to another country where the standard of beauty was such that I, as I am right now, would just naturally be a very handsome man to the local inhabitants. The good majority of us know, that as things stand right now, we are only considered relatively unpleasant to look at in the eyes of our fellow countrymen. But does anyone else’s mind contemplate these things? Maybe someplace where the people look completely different like Africa or Japan. Because you look so completely different from the local people there, perhaps they don’t understand that you’re an ugly one of whatever you are. You might be as handsome or beautiful a specimen as your race has to offer. The problem is with globalization, they’re seeing advertisements and movies with your Angelina Jolies and your George Clooneys. Our corporations are unfairly informing these cultures what the American standard scale of beauty is when 50 years ago a guy like me could go to Sapporo or Ghana and be considered the epitome of attractiveness to the local eye. My only hope is that despite our best efforts to inform them of what Americans find attractive, they simply have too deeply an ingrained sense that the way I look is a mysterious and beautiful vision of masculinity. Until I have visited a greater swatch of countries, I’m not ruling this scenario out. I just have a beautiful fantasy of going somewhere like the Solomon Islands and having every woman there instantly taken with this unique looking stranger. Having the world retrofitted to all of a sudden imagining you in the popular consciousness as a beautiful person would be too glorious a proposition to pass up. Your ego would never let you get back on the boat.

It is this sort of missed opportunity that reminds me of another scenario. Each of us probably has a number of things we would be immensely talented at but because we’ve never discovered them or nature does not allow us the capacity to exercise them they are lost on us forever. It’s interesting to think how many of us have the specific musculature and flexible cartilage that would have made us Olympic quality gymnasts but out of sheer bad luck we never took a class or even tried to do a cartwheel. I always imagined that I would be excellent at giving blowjobs, but I was born bearing the unfortunate cross of heterosexuality. Not once have I been receiving a blowjob and not thought that I could have done a better job blowing myself. The worst part about it is the knowing. The knowledge that you could be traveling the world giving premium quality blowjobs but trapped in your straight solitary confinement, watching through the window as a lifetime of squandered talent plays with its friends in the prison yard. I suppose I could go around blowing guys despite my heterosexuality, but without the gusto of sheer felatic enjoyment I don’t think my blowjobs would be any better than that of your average enthusiastic however tragically unskilled woman. A homosexual who loves blowing guys doesn’t know how good he’s got it, really being able to apply such a strong skill set to an avocation he relishes in. These are the kind of missed opportunities that the lazy man will contemplate in his ample time off.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Through His Associations and Sympathies

JMD — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 02:59:10 +0000

Now I’ve never been raped before, but I can only assume that when you get raped somewhere you immediately develop a negative association with that place. For instance if you were to get raped at a movie theater you would have a continuing aversion towards movie theaters or if you got raped at an Ultimate Fighting Championship you would have a lifetime aversion to octagons. I can’t help but think that with a constructive imagination and a few helpful friends, you would be able to apply this special brand of aversion therapy towards all the negative locations or associations in your life that you would just as soon rid yourself of.

The most obvious example would be if you were an alcoholic. If so, it would be advantageous to have a good friend, or at the very least a discreet acquaintance, rape you at a bar to help you firm up a nice negative association with drinking alcohol. Just imagine yourself sitting slant backed on a bar stool or quietly tucked into a corner booth by yourself, drowning your sorrows in alcohol for the umpteenth time, resigning yourself to a lifetime of negative repetitive afflicting behavior, only to have a good friend with your best interests in his or her heart come in masked or mustachioed and rape you into the next stage of affirmative and forward thinking behavior. When you measure the continuous cycle of gin soaked broken dreams versus a painful yet quickly executed rape in the right direction, this seems like a clear case of ends justifying the means.

Get raped out of smoking. Get raped out of biting your nails. Get raped out of those extra pounds around your tummy and thighs. A guy or gal with a devoted best friend could infinitely improve his or her life and further mold formerly bad habits towards a new self-construction. The only negative effect I can foresee is the possibility of forming an inextricable positive association with getting raped. Though always painful and unpleasant, after seeing good results pile up on top of each other it will be difficult not to at least form a strong intellectual connection between the misfortune of rape and the new and improved you.

But I’ve got the solution. So there you are almost completely a changed person, having had all your negative traits mentally associated with the horror of rape and therefore held forever in submission. The only thing left is that you’re a terrible procrastinator. So there you are surfing the internet instead of completing a work assignment that you’ll need for the following morning when in walks a masked assailant who starts raping you as per usual. “Oh great,” you think. “Although this rape is certainly unpleasant, I know that from now on I’ll sure have trouble procrastinating when I’ve got important work to do.” As soon as that thought starts forming in your head, you know what happens? Bam! Another person comes in to rape you at the same time, to break you of your positive associations with rape. Swiss fucking watch baby.

As the last matter of course I suggest having only one or two friends in your circle do the raping for everybody else. The problem is that they will develop very strong positive associations between the rapes they are committing and the warm glowing feeling they get in their hearts from doing so much to help their friends. That is why when they are perpetrating their last rape on another one of your friends, you must disguise yourself and then rape them while they’re in the middle of raping another. This will leave them with, at best, a lukewarm feeling about rape in general. And there the last loose end has been neatly tied up.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

The Companionship Of Yesterday And The Reunion of Tomorrow

JMD — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 22:53:23 +0000

I’ve got a fuzzy memory of being about 6 years old at the beach, playing in the waves and riding them back in towards the sand. I caught the crest of an especially big wave and immediately in my feeble young mind I knew I had, in the sage words of my father, started something that I couldn’t finish. This wave was big and it took me and slammed me directly down into the glittering foggy bottom of the surf and held me tight under six feet of water while it slowly dragged me on my supple young belly towards land. After what felt like over two full minutes completely submerged and helpless I arrived at the shore with the recumbent waves lapping at my feet, blood and pebbles covering my chest, my swimsuit pockets filled with sand. And I cried. I pulled myself up and brushed my off my raw front with pruned and salted fingertips and wandered up and down the shoreline crying. Crushed and bleeding, young and confused at the time I needed them most. Where were my parents. Where were my parents? My parents had gone back to the hotel restaurant to have lunch. This was not some Partridge Family/Mormon pick nick-sized congregation of relations. I’m an only child. Besides their five dollar deposit resort towels, I was all they had to remember to bring along. It was only 45 minutes later when my mother had finished her club sandwich and couldn’t find her room key card that she came plodding back to the life guard station to retrieve her kin.

It’s been two weeks since the last time I addressed you folks. Are you battered broken? Have you wandered out of the woods of isolation where I had so startling plopped you down in the center of? Has the experience allowed you to build character and trap, kill and clean small game? I can’t imagine that it has. Here you are, sitting on the same stump where I left you. And how was my club sandwich, and didn’t I think you would want lunch too? It’s all too obviously that I abandoned you not out of some altruistic attempt to encourage you to develop into adulthood, but out of simple neglect. Neglect of a kind ubiquitous in this lazy solipsistic and fast paced culture. Was the life guard nice to you? How long did you have to wait for mommy? Oh, baby how’d you cut yourself; do you want my pickle?

Of course you don’t want my tragically nonsensical pickle of self redemption. You want loving arms waiting at the shore to run into: a bosom on which to cradle your weighty water logged head. You want consistency and I failed you. Well, the future of the Blog of Human Failure is pledging itself to the fraternal order of consistency, to be here for you several times a week when you need us. We’re at the beginning of a long sturdy effort to rebuild your trust and comfort. We promise never to leave you on your own without explanation again until we do. And I was on vacation, so blow me.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Funny Things About Madrid

JMD — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 17:46:03 +0000

Bon jour one last time from Paris my friends. I’ve got 13 minutes and this ridiculous metal keyboard again. Plus this terminal keeps lagging while the clock ticks. Light the fire; we’re going to burn it down.

Funny Things About Madrid:

1) I’ve found it. The last country. You can still smoke indoors in Spain. It’s the final frontier. Smoke’m while you got’em Spain. If they can get Paris, they can get you.

2) With every beer you order, and I’m talking about a Mahou here, you get a free tapa. Chorizo, potato salad, pistachios, fresh made potato chips, anchovies, quiche, friend potato chunks. You advance a level with every beer you order, and if they have to repeat themselves before you run out of money, then you win.

3) It’s hard to get drunk enough to fall asleep in a room with 14 other people in it and no air conditioning when the bar tender keeps feeding you potato salad.

4) No one is in a hurry to take your money. It always feels like you are bothering someone to pay for something. I guess they figure you have nowhere to go. And in fairness they are right.

5) In Madrid, napkins have the texture of credit card receipts.

6) There is a restaurant by my hostel named Museo de Jamon. My Spanish is rusty I admit, but I think that translates to Ham Museum. And it’s a chain. A chain of Ham Museums. I think that gives you an idea of the kind of city we’re dealing with here.

7) If that doesn’t totally get you there, I went to a bar and behind the counter there was a sweating pig’s leg in a wooden vice-clamp so tapas could be sawed right off of it. Oh, and on the way there I passed protesters in front of a McDonald’s complaining about their treatment of animals. Seriously.

8 ) Last food thing: creamed salami sandwiches, creamed ham sandwiches, creamed anchovy and cheese sandwiches. Like salami put in a blender with heavy cream and put on white bread. Very tasty. Seriously.

9) At 6 AM on a Friday, what sounded like hundreds of drunken Spaniards stood under my window banging on garbage cans for 40 minutes, slurring an espanyol only version of “We Will Rock You.” I love that song!

10) There are lots of deformed beggars in Madrid, and also you’re not supposed to drink the tap water. I’m always suspicious of the correlation.

11) Hey El Grecco. It’s Jesus; we get it. Next topic please. That goes double for you Velazquez.

12) The pedestrian traffic lights beep at you like smoke detectors.

13) And we have a winner. .80 Euro for a Coca-Cola light at a Madrid bodega. At .73 Euros to the dollar, that’s just about Manhattan prices. My new home away from home.

I’ll be back in the USA tomorrow. We’ll make a new plan for going forward together from here after that.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Funny Things About Barcelona

JMD — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 18:56:40 +0000

Buenes Noches de Madrid. I´m back to pay internet but I´ve got 24 minutes left on this Euro and no one over my shoulder so we can certainly take our time if we want to. But I´m going to type at my normal comforable pace regardless. Let´s get crackin´.

Funny Things About Barcelona:

1) I´m not talking about mullets here. You´re looking at a guy from the front and he looks perfectly normal. Maybe he has a neatly trimmed goatie, a short hair cut with tight sideburns and then he turns around and -Bam- rat tail! Six inches, eight inches. What a thrill. Twelve inches.

2) Yes, he has a nose ring, she has a nose ring. Whatever, I´m over it.

3) In Figueres, a town outside of Barcelona, there is a 15 meter long metal statue of a heroin spoon created by Salvador Dali. It´s just sitting there on the street. In fairness my Spanish isn´t great, so it could be a heroine´s spoon, but what are the odds?

4) San Miguel is a tasty beer and that´s that.

5) Well I´m in Spain so all of the street signs and instructions will finally be Spanish right? What´s this about Catalan? Well fuck me then.

6) And if you think Catalan and Spanish would be almost the same, you have no idea. For instance in Spanish, the word for the number four is ¨quatro¨, where as in Catalan, it´s ¨oingo-boingo¨.

7) But seriously, you don´t know what a relief it is to say, ¨¿Que derecion es el Metro?¨and not get looked at like an asshole. You wouldn´t be suprised how few times that worked in Paris.

8 ) Every other window has a giant petrified pig´s leg in it. Appetizing.

9) It´s about time. How long does a brother go to be in Europe before he sees some topless sunbathers? Barcelona delivers.

10) If they have pictures of the food on the menu, you´re not going to have a good meal. You think I would know this is an international rule, but you´re forgetting I´m a moron.

11) I know I´m probably the millionth guy to say this, but Gaudi is right. Yech.

12) These people look suspiciously like Puerto Ricans and Cubans. Something is going on here.

13) Black people speaking Spanish. I´m on board; sign me up.

14) 1.10 Euro for a Coca-Cola light. Ahh, refresco! Welcome back to civilization.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

And As An Added Special Complementary Bonus

JMD — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 22:04:19 +0000

A few blowjob jokes:

You ever blow a guy because it’s raining and then halfway through, it stops raining and it’s like, “Uh, it’s not raining anymore. I don’t have to do this.”?

You ever blow a guy just to show a guy? Just to get to know a guy?

You ever blow a guy for being a real smart aleck?

You ever order a salad, but instead the waiter makes you blow a guy?

You ever been getting a blowjob, but you realize you’d rather be blowing a guy?

You ever blow a guy who’s wearing his baseball hat crooked? You’re the last person on earth wearing your hat like that. Congratulations: you win. Now straighten that thing out or no more blowjobs.

You ever been waiting in line to blow a guy, and even though your don’t want to, you still get that excited feeling for being next in line?

You ever watch two guys blowing each other and never felt more alone in the world?

You ever been blowing a guy, but then it turned out to be a different guy? Pretty sneaky!

You ever blow a guy up, just to see him come toppling down?

You ever blow a guy once when it counted so you wouldn’t have to di it twice when it didn’t?

You ever blow a guy with the best of intentions, only to see the worst of results?

You ever blow a guy just for showing up?

Can anyone think of others like that? I really like these.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Funny Things About Paris

JMD — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 09:25:18 +0000

Man thank god I´m in Barcelona, where the beer is cheep and I can actually ask where the the Metro station is and not get looked at like an asshole. I´ve actually got unlimited internet access at this hostel, but I´ve got a group of rabid looking Australian girls behind me waiting for me to get off, so like Jesse Thorn always instructs: I´ll keep it pithy. Tires to the road.

Funny Things About Paris:

1) There are benches permanently welded in the slouching position. I´m a slouching son of a bitch. A plus.

2) If you thought high British people were adorable, wait until you get a load of these drunk French people.

3) Couples in dark corners making out all over the city, like erotic zombies.

4) When you order Chinese food in Paris, and I did this just because I knew something wonderful would happen, you pick out your food choices from under the glass display, and they put it on a plate, microwave it, and then bring it to you. This is really something they get away with.

5) I can´t believe I didn´t get laid in Paris. What´s going on here?

6) Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triumph, the Louvre, Notre Dame. All totally worth it. Paris is all about going in with high expectations and then having your expectations totally fulfilled and superceded. Unless you expect to get laid.

7) Yes, yes. Many a coal plant. I knew you´d see it my way.

8 ) Chocolate chips in pistachio ice cream? I´ll buy that.

9) My first waiter at a French restaurant was a snooty middle aged French guy who was super rude and slammed down my plates. God I was so happy to live that stereotype. No beret?

10) With bread before a meal, they give you mustard instead of butter, but on a jambon und fromage sandwich they have butter instead of mustard. Sartre died contemplating the absurdity.

11) You know you´re in a civilized country (I´m looking at you here Germany) when you have to pay to get on the subway. As a bonus, your subway card allows you to rent bikes all over the city. Not bad.

12) Picasso made a bronze statue of a cat taking a shit. These are the revelations with which traveling provides you.

13) I walked down the street and saw something that made my jaw drop. An old man in front of a falafel stand with a yarmulke on begging for money. Who in their right mind is going to give a jew free money? And as a rule, a jew don´t beg. You should be ashamed of yourself France.

14) Six tries? If you can´t parallel park a Smart Car then just cut your dick off buddy.

15) The police all wear baseball hats that say police on them.

16) 4.75 Euro for a Coca-Cola light in a cafe in Paris. If you have to ask how much for a diet coke in the city of lights, you can´t afford it.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites