A Poem - That's It.

Why don't dolphins fly?
They just
Fucking swim
Imagine the alternate dimensions
In which
Dolphins
You fuckers
Are flying fucking everywhere
Holy shitsicle
Grab my tits, poopsadosio this cuntcock is one sick piece of shitdouche
No my Jesus
Your Jesus
Get it off ah shit whoa
Who in the
Get

- Funny Man, the lone resident of Funnytown

Oy, The Sequel: How It Goes On

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Hams, Hams, and More Hams!

That's right folks, your eyes did not decisive you today! Get 'em while they're hot and fresh! Freshly killed, I mean. And they're hot cuz we're not refrigerating these motherfuckers so ya'll better hurry! Otherwise we're just gonna have a bunch of rotting, stinky hams all over the place growin mold and spreadin disease like nobody's business! And imagine the maggots! Seriously take a good minute to just think of what that'd be like! I'll wait. Yeah, it'd be like that but for every minute all the time. Gross. So if you're a kind decent human being, you'll buy all these porkers! $600 each. Minimum of a dozen per order. Also, you literally have to come get them because we're not gonna ship that shit. We're down on main street in whatever the closest town with a main street is to you. Just look for us on the left right by that awesome hat and sunglasses joint that you got that fly snapback at. You know the one with Alexander Hamilton beatboxing while Aaron Burr is dropping a sick ass rap. But as we all know, personal issues brought that collaboration to a swift and lead-filled end. C'est la vie. Anyway, if you get to the Starbucks, you've gone to far. You'll wanna just come around back; that's where the hams are. Oh and you might wanna bring a blanket or something cuz their still pretty bloody.

But enough about hams and ridiculous historical hip-hop duos; we have much more important ground to cover! For example, how long I can make this post without you (the reader) getting bored and leaving. I assume that happened somewhere around the maggots bit. But if you're still here, I might as well use up some more of your time! Also, there's this really unsightly plot of dirt about two miles up the road that somebody should probably go put something on top of. Maybe grass? I dunno, it doesn't matter! Just get that ground covered stat! 

(I threw that last line in because I knew you had no idea what the fuck that had to do with anything.) 

(You're welcome.) 

Now I would like to respond to some questions from fans. But I can't because we don't do that shit here. So instead, I'm gonna ask and answer my own questions! Ready for an introspective interview?!

Q: So tell me, me, what would you say is your biggest inspiration?

A: Well, as I know, I've always loved sea turtles. Those fuckers are awesome as shit! They just swim all over the world not giving any fucks with their little shells and flippers and their goofy bald heads. They're pretty god damn inspiring, man. Do I get me?

Q: I couldn't have said it better myself! Do I have any advice for the children, so that they to may dream?

A: Well sleep is usually the place to start, but once you get good at it, you can just whip it out whenever you want. You're gonna wanna practice as much as possible, so try to fall asleep whenever you can. That means in class, doing homework, reading, writing blogs, zzzzzzzzzzzzz, zzzz, zzzzzzzzzz, huh? oh right, with your friends; if you wanna get good, pretty much just wake up to eat and take a shit and maybe take a shower and go on the computer or some shit.

Q: I am so insightful! Last question, what would you say it's all about?

A: Instinctively the hokey pokey. But really, what else is it about? The hokey pokey is just a bunch of people who get together and do some dumb shit and just have fun with it. It's the silliest thing in the world (hyperbole), and it's also really fucking lame, but it doesn't matter as long as you want to do it. As long as you have fun and just let go of all the other bullshit and just be in the moment. So do the hokey pokey! Do the hokey pokey! Do the hokey pokey; that's what it's all about!

Q: Wrong answer! You fail this exam!

A: Awww shit! Was it "the Benjamins?" Those fuckin assholes! Why can't I join? Just because my name isn't Benjamin doesn't mean I'm not one at heart!

And that concludes a segment I like to call "Interview by a Madman."

Next time on primokebab:

Does the sun bathe?

How to use your crippling social awkwardness to your advantage!

and

Avoid a Wicked Wednesday: a guide to the week's worst day

With all the love that I possess,

I remain seated.

Me

Ask a question and then answer it. What is the meaning of life? (bum bum buuuuuuuuuuuuuum) and Describe the terror of the soft cheese as the cheese knife approacheth.

                What a touted question. People make this one thing into such a huge deal. It’s so important, people spend they’re whole life just trying to find out why they’re living it! Seems kinda silly to me, doncha think? Why would life have a meaning of its own? Life’s just chilling, man, it’s not driven by anything! There’s no guy anywhere running the Life Inc. ™ corporation and we’re all his employees out to spend our hard earned life on his wishes. I waited literally billions of years to get this one tiny little life and now I’m supposed to just hop along with whatever it means? Screw that! But thank Glob and Randy Newman that’s not how this shindig works. Life on its own doesn’t mean anything more than a book without a writer. It’s fuckin blank, man. I like to think of life as like a huge bowl and I at the meaning buffet just pickin out all the goodin’s like enjoying the incredibly short moment I get to have sentience (before I go back to being food for some of life’s least appetizing creatures!) instead of some of the crazier ones like giving all glory to the hypnotoad. I tried it once. Not as fun as you might expect, but a great group of people. We used to have knitting club on Thursday nights and gab about all juicy gossip of who gave how much glory and the hypnotoad’s need for more, but I digress. See the beauty of the meaning of life is you get to make it as you go along so worrying about what “the meaning of life is” is the meaning of life! Well can be. But it can be anything else! And as long as it doesn’t too harshly impact the other peeps on Earth’s face I’m totally cool wit dat! As for me, I’m just coastin through tryin to soak up all the great time and get the most outta life experientially and creatively. And to glorify the hypnotoad. In all his immense glory.

The soft cheese fears not the fast approaching knife, for the soft cheese has known its fate all along and thus has had much time to contemplate and accept its impending doom. The soft cheese, henceforth referred to as Gary, had lived a full life. He laughed with friends, enjoyed wine tastings, even went to the moon! Gary had seen all he wanted to see and done all he wanted to do. At his age, Gary was already approaching stage 3 mold and didn’t have much longer to live. In an act of selflessness and a testament to Gary’s love for others, he donated his own flesh to feed starving children all around the world. Gary has achieved the inner peace he had longed to reach as a younger wedge and, having completed his list of life goals written in the 4^th grade (ranging from eating ice cream for dinner to wrestling in a tag team match with Lou Ferrigno against the Nature Boy Ric Flair and Elisabeth the Queen of England), faced his death with the same determined smile he wore every day of his life. Gary was an inspiration to us all. 

What is something you believe to be true, despite a lack of evidence of a presence of evidence to the contrary?

I believe in the Lord of Dance

Dancing is the one bliss, no but's about it. There ain't no God, there ain't no science, there ain't shit if we can't move our bodies. Let me preamble this, though. I envision the entirety of existence as two conflicting (or, at least, dynamic) components: anti-entropy and entropy, anti-entropy embodying all that is living and moving and directed forward, and entropy embodying all that decays, those slowing forces of the universe. These become more apparent to me when I view everything as being made of the exact same particles that make everything else (call them atoms, whatever, I don't care. They're something you can't see, bozo; they could be lil' pieces of cheese for all we know). Stars form, then explode. But the pieces that they send off will eventually travel to form a blue planet far, far away, where someday they formulate an odd looking creature with two eyes, ears, arms and legs and for some reason it can't stop complaining about how long it just spent in the airplane terminal, and how they didn't even offer peanuts mid-flight, Jesus Christ! Sorry, that last bit is more for me than actually conveying my point. Which is, ahem, soon to come.

So these atoms permeate everything that exists and for some reason they change, they decay, they alter themselves into different atoms, but they're never really gone, right? There ain't no END to the fucks. Atoms just keep trucking along. But what about energy, eh? That must be it then. Energy's gotta be the God factor, right? The all-existent, always unseen property that permeates our existence? Well here's me point, buckaroo, King of the Shoes. Energy is the spark of mass (atoms, matter, cheese, you get it) to align itself in a way that is pleasurable. Now rope it back in, Slappy, and think of a human dancing. Is it the way we look when we dance that makes us do it with such ecstasy and fervor? Possibly, but for the most part we just look like morons. For me, it's the molecular rhythm, the infinitesimal beat that we can't even acknowledge, that makes us dance so much. It is the one bliss that nothing else in existence can provide. When I acknowledge my typing of this response as a function of atoms that became self-aware (and are now becoming self-aware of the fact that they are, indeed, self-aware; this is getting weird), thinking suddenly becomes a strenuous effort. It is genuinely hard to fire brainwaves the more cognizant I become of my mass-ness (cheese-ness), because it is that feeling, the awareness that I am physically just a lot of tiny bits stuck together in a suitable pattern, that makes me happiest and most at peace. Happy not in the "thank Cheese they gave us peanuts on this flight" sense, but in the "I'm thinking of absolutely nothing" sense. So go dance. Dance your bones until they resonate. Good vibrations are my religion, and happiness is my drug.

With boogie,

Hoi Polloi

¿Como TE llamas?

It's amazing, people, how your name has so much importance. It's how you identify yourself to everyone you meet and even to people who meet you. But names are just words! They're just made-up things that come from other made up things til you get back to fuckin' monkey makin' chimp sounds and then dinosaurs rawrin' and shit and then to the first sound any animal ever made! It was probably like a "YYRRRRZERRRTTZKKK" or something, I dunno. Do you? So yeah, basically names are just organized nonsense but also at the same time they're you. It's kinda a mixed bag. We all know that type of bag, eh? You think you're all special? Qua qua qua mothafucka? That's right. Don't question it ANY more.

So back to the idea of coincidences. Do you believe in coincidence? Like as a spiritual deity. Do you believe in the one holy coincidence, who art in Coincidence Land oh I don't know what the shit, in thy name and all the shtuff? Well, I think it's safe to say that if you're not sure how to answer that question, you're probably going to burn in predetermination with the furies of a thousand tulips on a really muggy spring afternoon (that shit dank yo!). Coincidence? I think not! But really doe: how's that even a thing? Why for the love of my beloved Gandhi's rectum would you ever say "I think not"? Like more like "I not think", byatch. Or maybe I meant "Think not". OH the times. How they swish and sway the things we think we meant in our sloshy swishy brains.

Always wrap it up brothas, I gotta say. Even if you want a kid, wrap it up cuz trust me ya'll don't want kidz yo they're fuckkkkk'd up. Or maybe you do. I don't know you and you don't know me and that's the way it should happen! Surely you agree! Anywhoo, leave with peace my loyal disciples! Do not weep at our exit, rejoice as we saunter yonder!

The REAL Guardians of Ga'hoole

Gawd it feels good to be back

Back to all my loyal fans and admirers! I know you've missed the little twinkle of light we provide in your otherwise cloudy, sad day. But enough, I shouldn't remind you of those dark times in your lives. On to darker topics, we believe our poor Schmuck has passed on, if you will. It would seem that instead of building a passage into a new life, he made his own coffin. That's some fucked up shit, man. Sadness.

Usually sadness is a downward sloping spiral, so let's lighten the mood. A joke, perhaps? No? Okay, here's an idea for a children's television show: it's called Kid & Kid, P.I. It's a cartoon about these two detectives: one of them is an elderly goat called "the Kid", in an ironic way, and the other is an actual human child. Also, they're psychic. That's the tagline! Check it out on Cartoon Network next season motha' fuckaaaaaaas! But yeah, it's added to the growing queue of creative projects and whatnot we've been meaning to get. That being the collection including such great hits as "The Monk Show", a popular comedy show revolving around a wild temp worker filling in at a Buddhist monastery (boy o boy, I don't even need to tell you about the crazy antics that ensue), and "Caution Wet Floor: A Script", an independent film shot entirely in separate, individualized visual interpretations of the art itself, maaan. Any of these works may or may not actually come to fruition, but in any case they're awesome.

The Way of the Schmuck is the Way of the Armadillo - wait, no, scratch that. Scratch it off. It's the Way of the Universe. Yeah, Way of the Schmuck, Way of the Universe, yadda yadda, bing, baddaboom, boom. And from that, I think we can really divine the answer to everything. It all started with Schmuck, I suppose... it's true! From Schmuck cometh everything. And then there's a big convoluted other thing that gets you to the other side, the Universe bit, it's a whole eh, thing, like uhh ah it's such a fucked up thing, oh my Holy Teapot it's so horrible, Gahd, it's this whole twisted, sick, ah you don't even want to know. Jesus H. Butthole it's terrifying. On His toilet o' thorns. King of the Poos. Wow, oh kay so that one's done.

Sounds are so fucking awesome! How did we make them mean things though, ya know? Like if I were saying this to you, your ears would totally get what my sounds and tones mean. I don't even understand how that works. And also, musical sounds can make emotions out of basically nothing. It's basically God's greatest gift to His most beloved creation who He, in his almighty glory, literally killed himself and his son as one so He could forgive it. I'm talking, of course, about dolphins. They're like the goddamn masters of sound.

It seems that this post has wrapped itself up quite nicely. Or maybe I mean not at all.

Either way,
hugz n' kayz
Your friendly neighborhood guys