mind expanding nonsense

Archive for the ‘What a Wanker’ Category

Supposi-stories For Your Mind

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The title was really supposed to be Suppositories for your Mind, but I didn’t want to sound gross or suggest that anyone ingest my words anally, unless, you’re some kinda Tea Party nut-case that thinks my blog is blasphemous or a bunch of bleeding heart liberal communist bullshit; then I think you know where you can feel free to shove it.

divel-fipps 005Anyway, taking these little ‘mind stories’ rectally is a slow way to assimilate them.  Number one, your butt is pretty far from your brain.  And number two (snicker), it’s all up-stream, and who wants some tired, worn-out stimuli in their brain? [Some have solved this problem by magically placing their heads up their ass].  Taking these stories orally seems like a faster way, but anything that goes in your mouth has to go down first, and then make a big U-turn before it goes back up to your head.

I guess the best way to digest these stories is visually.  The back of your eyes have little cords running outta them which plug directly into your brain.  That’s why I always throw in a drawing or two.  Gives the eyes something to look at while your brain is trying to figure out what has been written.

 

Happy Birthday

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By the time you read this, I’ll have had a birthday (late February, the sixth day before the end of the month, unless it’s leap-year and then it’s seventh)…68 Frickin’ years old!  Some how I’m not so excited about it, or looking forward to a birthday when you were a kid and it was your “special day”.  [If I get my tenses mixed up, it’s not because I’m so spaced-out I can’t keep things straight.  It’s because I can’t make it a current event like all that crap which was such a big deal for Social Studies].  There’s no fun in getting older.  But then again, there’s never any fun when ya stop getting older.

I don’t think of myself as an old man…until, I look in the mirror and wonder, “Who’s that old geezer?”.  That’s why I indulge in the naughty little boy side of me as often as possible.  At this stage, I really don’t care if I get my hand caught in the cookie jar.  And speaking of the ol’ cookie jar,  the latest rage amongst cannabis connoisseurs is “edibles”, cannabis infused food products*   You’ve heard of  the fabled Alice B Toklas brownies.  Well now you can load-up on weed enhanced: popcorn, chewing gum, hard candy and (my favorite) chocolate.  Make some canna-butter (THC extracted into heated fats), and you can cook with it and get ‘baked’ at the same time.

now 004I’d like to do that at Thanksgiving sometime.  Make up a batch of cannabis butter and use it to : baste the turkey, stir into the mashed potatoes, place a few pats on the veggies, and of course, slather it on rolls.  Yum.

It goes without saying, that you don’t tell any of the usual attendees (The Wife’s born again relatives) about it.  Just let ’em help there selves to a bountiful harvest feast.  Thanking God (when not saying, ‘oh my gawd’) for the bounty, and the joy of living in the United States of America (land of the free and home of the brave…of thee I sing).  And Jesus (the Mexican guy down at the dispensary) and me, for making it the best Thanksgiving ever.  Sadly this, along with many of my great ideas, will never happen.

*Ain’t that something?  A “munchie” made to get ya high, that once high, gives ya the munchies, so what do ya grab?  Why more “edible” munchies which again gives ya  the munchies ad infinitum.

Invisibility

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A few posts back, I wrote something about how I’m starting to feel invisible, un-noticed and ignored as I got older.  I also made mention of, like a nasty little boy, adolescent fantasies of invisibility wherein one could do all sorts of forbidden stuff, like go into the girls locker room at school; a fantasy common to most horny little boys along with the wish ya had x-ray vision like Superman.  [I wonder how often he scoped-out Lois Lane?]

Well, I’m not most men are not into that stuff anymore.  Thankfully, voyeurism (and the horns) have worn off by the time ya start getting Social Security.  But wouldn’t it be cool  to be invisible for real, like the guy in the Invisible Man movie.  You could do all kinds of stuff, like walk into any theater, sit down and watch what ever you wanted without having to buy a ticket.  You would have to make sure it wasn’t a crowded performance so some fat-lady wouldn’t come down your row and blop her big fat butt on top of ya.

You could also stay in some pretty nice hotels, just go behind the front desk, grab a set of keys, and voila, you’re livin’ large.  Hitting up the breakfast buffet might be challenging.  Nothing like a floating tray piled high with goodies being a dead give-a-way that someone invisible is pigging-out.

Driving a car could be difficult.  I’d sure freak-out for sure if I saw an apparently driver-less car next to me in the fast lane.  Motorcycles and bicycles are out too.  With all the drones flyin’ round these days, someone might think that they were being chased by remote control, with some geek in Virginia, sitting at his joy-stick, ready to take your ass out.

I don’t think I’d like to be invisible all the time.  If you needed to be seen, you’d have to put on clothes, hat and gloves, and cover your face with bandages, and hope that the cheap shit ya bought at the 99 Cents Store didn’t start to unravel on ya.  That’s what the Invisible Man had to do, which of course meant: he was naked  all the time!

I’d like to turn my invisibility off and on.  The Wife don’t want no invisible hairy ass sitting on her sofa-love seat.  An off switch would be nice, that way you don’t have to stand up all the time.  Even if I put a towel down on my recliner, eating a bowl of soup could be mighty uncomfortable, especially if I dribbled.  I would do all my blogging while invisible; sorta lends itself to the medium.  Doing Skype would be interesting, especially if the person you were Skyping had their invisibility turned on too.  It would be like a plane old phone call, except you could see the phone booth they were calling from.  I think I’d float an ashtray in front of the screen or bend some spoons just to let ya know I was there…and naked.

Below is a picture of me being invisible; must have just gotten in from wondering around in the garden.  The one above is by my six year old grandson Logan; he could care less about invisibility, but just wait.

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Hurling Invectives

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I’m really not sure what an invective is.  But sometimes when I hear something that I know is bullshit, and it’s being passed off as non-bullshit, I get so upset that I just wanna yell out, “Fuck You!”.  That usually happens when I watch a lot of TV.  I don’t know if that’s hurling an invective or dropping an F-bomb.  I think some one once said, “He who is without bullshit may hurl the first invective”.  I kinda see it as a sport, similar to the winter sport of Curling, but instead of sliding stones on ice, you hurl verbal bombs into the air, hoping to get as close to your chosen target as possible.

Dropping F-bombs can be crude and vulgar, depending on who’s doing the dropping, but ultimately satisfying, like letting a silent fart.  Similar to passing flatulence, one can always tell when an F-bomb is called for, cause something just doesn’t smell right.  I love it when a TV personality accidentally drops an F-bomb.  Everybody acts so embarrassed and surprised while we learn what a potty mouth that person really is.  Politicians are pretty good at not dropping F-bombs.  They’re always so diplomatic even though everybody knows they’re calling their opponents fuckers.

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Watching Superman

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I don’t know about you, but when I was a kid I watched The Adventures of Superman on TV.  Loved every cheezie, poorly acted episode; especially when Superman (portrayed by actor George Reeves who was no man of steel himself because he is thought to have committed suicide) jumped outta that tall building window and started to fly.

Well, I’ve taken to watching them again on ME-TV, the network that features old TV shows from the fifties and sixties.  Wow!  By today’s standards these half hour shows were a bunch of crap: low budget simple stories on cheap sets featuring B-list actors.  That was in 1952 – early television.  I was only five years old at the time and didn’t have a clue about television, cause our family didn’t get a TV set until 1955 or thereabouts ( a big boxie piece of furniture – a Packard Bell – that always “went on the fritz” and required a repair man to come over to the house and fix it on a regular basis, which made my Dad curse, “What a piece of crap!”.)  I saw all the episodes when they played as re-runs in the afternoons before the Mouseketeers came on.

What impressed me the most was not so much the actual episodes themselves, but the network and the demographic it was playing to.   Old TV shows playing to an older crowd trying to re-live their youth, interspersed with commercials for hearing aids, walk-in bathtubs and Kaiser Medicare ads.  After an hour of watching this nostalgic stuff, I couldn’t help but realize, “Wow…a bunch of geezers must be watching this crap”.  Sure glad I’m not one of them: some old fart sitting back in his recliner, mildly medicated, reliving his youth, blowing his mind in the present over that which blew his mind in the past, and wishing that he too could fly (and get it on with Lois Lane).

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Vacation

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Hey.  In case ya haven’t noticed, I haven’t posted anything new in quite a while.  That’s because: 1)  I’ve been a lazy turd, and 2)  I’ve been on vacation.  Going on vacation when you’re retired is kinda like one of them oxymorons; retirement is a permanent vacation, so it’s like taking a vacation from being on vacation.

Anyway, The Wife and I took a drive up US 395 to Bishop California, past Mammoth and Mono Lake up to Carson City Nevada to visit her sister (and play penny slot machines which really cost 30 cents a shot – I won $30!!!).  We then drove up 395 through central Oregon, ending up in Olympia Washington, to visit even more family.

What was amazing is my blog stats didn’t really suffer during my absence.  In fact, on July 29th, the day we left, I had the most visits or ‘clicks’ than I’ve had in a long long time.  Go figure.

The only thing I could come up with is: Less is More.  An Orwellian truism which I immediately interpreted as:  If I get more visitors by not blogging, than by blogging, I should stop blogging altogether and watch my stats soar.

And speaking of oxymorons,  it appears that there’s a lot of morons out there that are filthy perverts,  Googling all kinds of nasty perverted shit that Google sees fit to link to my blog.  How can that be?  Oh well, ya don’t mess with success.

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Words of Wisdom

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“It’s amazing how paranoia can drive ya to take action to avoid the stuff ya fear.”

“Everything is an experiment”.

“Vote with your pocketbook, and do it often.”

“Picking one’s teeth can be a meal in itself.”

Back in my college daze, when I was actively enjoying the benefits of non-medical marijuana.  I wrote a little booklet containing Hansi’s Words of Wisdom.  Sayings which made little sense unless you were stoned.  Like: “Life is a candle made of earwax”, or “Picking one’s teeth can be a meal in itself”.  Loadie logic which sounded deep and insightful when high, but in the reality most people share, was a bunch of psychedelic bullshit.

Well maybe not all of it.  “Picking one’s teeth’ is still as profound today as it was in 1969.  Not so much a meal any longer, but still certainly a nice snack. Mmmm potato chips.

“Voting with your pocketbook” works for me today.  If some organization or corporation irks my liberal leanings, I don’t buy their shit.  If ya can’t stand the present day income disparity, shop locally.  You know, ‘Mom and Pop’ stores, like your local dispensary.   Ya might wanna try that one sometime.  “Everything is an experiment” after all.

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