Tag Archives: conspiracy theories

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

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After much prayer and consideration (used a cootie catcher), I realize that now is the time to speak up for principle, for the one man who can oppose the lunatic New World Order. For that reason, I encourage you all to write in Ron Paul tomorrow.

Oh, I kill me. Go on, Google “lunatic New World Order.” But I did dream about exploding building all night last night. I was in a high rise looking down while watching bombs fall in what was supposed to be New York but looked way more like Chicago. It was rather stressful, and between that and a child’s non-observance of “Fall Back,” I am on my last fraying nerve today. Let it be Wednesday morning already?

I mean, whoa, stuff be scary. There are McCain-Palin signs in Massachusetts! We skipped all those houses while trick-or-treating. I do not want their pizen candy! It is bad enough that I made the tone deaf mistake of dressing my kid in an elephant costume. What was I thinking?

There is even a McCain-Palin sign on the lawn next to our Democrat state rep’s house. Now, the rep has a bigger flag, so I see who wins this round. How does he refrain from getting up at 4 a.m. every day to go piss on that sign? Come to think of it, the grass was rather brown around the sign. We took pictures of ourselves being terrified by the sign. That sign was the scariest thing I saw all night, by a mile. The dad driving his kid from house to house was a close second. If you’re for McCain, fine, whatever. I could buy that we’d have done better under McCain than GWB had 2000 gone another way, but Palin? Really? America? You there? Don’t they make yard signs without her name on them?

I’ll be working on perfecting a macaroni and cheese recipe that is also fortified with benzodiazepines if you need me. I’m gonna be rich. I also have to call HAARP and have them engineer a ridiculous blizzard over Western Pennsylvania and selected parts of Florida. Don’t forget, me!!!!

All the children are above average

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Large Hadron Collider, you’re our only hope! I am painting my “Antimatter #1” foam finger right now. Actually, a ybab is doing that. You might say “No, she is eating the tongue depressor with a sticker on it that she got at the doctor’s office this morning.” You’d be right.

My head did not split open and manifest a black hole during the pro-drilling commercial that was on during “Meet the Press” yesterday. The ad proudly proclaimed that we need more energy, and we are sitting on 60 years of oil! Sure, some of it may be under cute animals, but that is really their poor choice. Am I daring to stare into the face of God when I wonder what happens once 60 years are up? Oh well, I’ll be dead then, killed in the mutant crusades. The other thing I don’t get are all the big ups for compressed natural gas. Yes, cleaner burning energy, lovely. Do people think natural gas floats serenely above the surface of the earth, like Casper the Friendly Ghost? There is drilling involved, no? Some of the gas can be obtained as a by-product of existing land raping, and that’s an efficient thing to do. But some of these ads remind us, my fellow Americans, that we have a lot of shale. Let’s just drill several states off the map, yielding a need for smaller government indeed.

Speaking of being dead, I am turning 25 again in a few weeks. I am fit as a fiddle. I eat omega-3s by the fistful. I have the maturity to delete all the “Fwd: FWD: Fwd: FWD MUST READ THIS: Fwd: Fwd: FWD can you believe these clown’s: Fwd” emails that spew forth from the AOL accounts of elderly relatives. OK, I reply all with Snopes links once in a while, but only if I haven’t taken my omega-3s. In short, some people are still pretty sure that Barack Obama is going to win and then rip off his suit on inauguration day to reveal some loose and flattering Jihadist wear, ready for climbing monkey bars or flying a plane. He may or may not say “Gotcha, honkies.” There is an animated GIF that offers insight.

And speaking of looking at the face of God, I am getting in on some of that action. It’s working for a lot of people, so why not me? In fact, I am becoming a Republican too. I don’t want the federal government spending my money, now that you mention it, if is is going to continue spending it the way it has been. Maybe this states’ rights thing has legs. I’ll be waaaay over here, walking places and using reusable bags like a stupid jerk. Don’t worry, I can’t afford organic arugula anymore. It must be the fault of those tax and spend Democrats in the White Hou– what’s that you say? Oh.

Here in Depraved Massachusetts, Channel 7 interrupted Sarah Palin’s RNC speech to cut to a segment on the transsexual on the new season America’s Next Top Model. The anchor all but said “Well, that’s enough of THAT, let’s move on to the important things.” There really is a place for all of us, doing special work.

In short, up is down, Cylons are scary, white is still and will always be white, and I need to counteract the effects of Disgusting Massachusetts with some small town values [Daily Show clip]. Like fishing. And drinking. Oh yes, there will be drinking. Can you believe I wrote this mess sober? Ha!

What color is your time machine?

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I phoned my arents-pay to let them know that my petite imp is locomoting on her hands and knees. My male arent-pay said, “Have you noticed that most green cars are driven by black people?” I asked him how this color preference affected him personally. He feels that people are simply not observant enough of minor details. But then he couldn’t tell me what color car “the orientals” drive. Observant my ass!

Then we had a lengthy chat about stepping out of the Matrix. I asked him to please let me know if he figured it out, as long as it didn’t involve a mail away kit from the back of a photocopied newsletter. So he will leave my refrigerator door open as a sign from the fourth dimension, as there’s a chance he might not be able to re-enter the Matrix once he figures out how to exit. The Matrix is tougher than Lollapalooza.

In other news, I am soliciting ideas for time-consuming projects that can be completed in the comfort of one’s invisible-bug-infested split level home.

Let meee get this straight

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I’ve really got nothing. Normally this does not stop me from typing and typing and typing with abandon, but there is a first time for everything!

I could tell you: we saw some dogs.

I could tell you: Morgellons is really what happens when a “subject” rejects the attempted infestation by black ops-developed bio warfare nano fibers, which would love to get in there and replace your DNA with their own. You have to watch out for the gold-tipped one because it contains a camera. I heard this. You don’t want to know. Oh, the coverup is vast. Don’t let Big Pharma know I told you, or the Illuminati will be on me like white on rice.

I could tell you: there are people in this world who have sent rockets into space, but these same people cannot enjoy foreign cuisines or resist buying quack medicine.

A day and another day and the day before

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I have about six drafts saved in here. Maybe you would have preferred to read “Take the Krugerrand and run.” But you won’t read that one. The subject was the best part anyway.

I am up to no good. Others were up to no good first, but I can’t change the situation, only how I Lord grant me the serenity, Britney. You can’t go home again, Britney. Especially when home is infested with menacing dust particles. Ask the dust. Ask away. The dust will tell you all about the Federal Reserve.

Today I had a green soda. I never have soda. But it looked so convincing in the case. It purported to be lime soda on the English label, but it was something else entirely. Battle kitty had a single black bean and part of a napkin. It was nice to walk in the sun.

A baby shan’t attend college now

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A baby celebrated three months of excreting yesterday! Guess how she celebrated that. Just go on and guess. Keeping her alive all that time was approximately ten trillion times harder than keeping Sea Monkeys alive, and that’s hard anyway.

She’ll never learn to read because we can’t afford reading now. Mr. H toted up what his comic book collection would be worth, and we had a little moment of ka-ching! But then he called his parents and found out they gave it away at a yard sale recently. Oh, snap. Oh.

The locals on the Yahoo! Group continue to infuriate me. They are now calling pre-meetings for meetings. If I wanted to go to meetings about meetings, I’d have a goddamn job. There is an issue with flood insurance that may end in litigation with the management company, and one bokka booka crazy woman suggested that someone go to the registry of deeds and compile a list of people who actually owned when the flood took place, so as to exclude people who did not own at the time from the meeting. Yes, because PEOPLE LOVE TO GO TO EXTRA FUCKING MEETINGS THAT DON’T CONCERN THEM. People volunteer to attend meetings left and right, and it takes some super sleuthing to stop them. Everything is a conspiracy.

And in this panel, Super Toad goes kerplooie

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Tuesday in cats: The Flaming Lips sure can clear a room (of cats).

Tuesday in Zellweger: Alert readers pointed me to this. So this is where Zellwegers come from! I am not sure what happened to my Zellweger. I sent her out to return my empties two days ago. She seems distracted lately.

Tuesday in my head: The front part hurts, sort of above my eyes. I think this is called a headache.

Tuesday should be Saturday: because then I’d be done with the worst of my work, and I’d be riding a bike around an island. Maybe this bike would have a sports bottle filled with margaritas. I had better get used to riding a bike for when we run out of oil. And I’ll get a chance to learn to be handy with a u-lock for beating zombies. Come on, apocalypse. My dad has been waiting for you for seventy years. Don’t keep an old man in suspense.