mind expanding nonsense

Archive for the ‘What a Wanker’ Category

Xmas

This past Christmas The wife hung these pine scented candles on our Xmas tree because the tree had no pine smell to it.  How a pine tree doesn’t have a scent is beyond me.  Maybe Monsanto has even genetically modified Xmas trees not to smell so they can sell us pine scented products (same division that makes the herbicide Round-Up) on the side.  The problem was, to me, these scented candles smelled like the cakes they throw in urinals to keep the stink down.  Kinda spoils the Yuletide festivities when your front room smells like a gas station restroom.  Every time I stood next to our beautifully decorated tree to admire all the ornaments, I found myself unzipping my pants and wanting to take a whizz on it.

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He’s Back

For any of you who remember Hot Dog Man…He’s back!  This is what Hot Dog Man looks like when he’s had too much medication.  Not that there’s anything wrong with too much medication; I do believe that everybody functions at their best when properly medicated.  It’s that sometimes, too much is just…too much.  But then again there’s a certain compelling logic to the “if a little is good, a lot is better” school of thought.

Despite the fact that I’m blurting this stuff out to the whole worldwide web (half a dozen followers for this blog) my drawings are not for general consumption.  Hot Dog Man is kinda like an alter-ego for me.  I get to act out through him, what The Wife never allows me to do when she’s home.  I rarely show my sketchbooks to her friends.  They’ll politely look through them, but are mostly aghast, and later question her about any obsessive-compulsive behaviors I might have.   All a total embarrassment, which I happily post for your edification.

White Paper

I’m a multi-media sort of guy.   Most of the stuff I’ve been posting recently has been on brown paper.  But I don’t just use brown paper only, I use white paper too!  In fact, I use quite a lot of white paper because brown paper sketch books are really expensive so ya only wanna put you really good stuff in them.  Old Hansi ain’t made of money.  I don’t wanna end up like some of my broke social security buddies having to eat cat food in order to survive.  Every time I go over for dinner at their house, I gotta ask if we’re having canned food or kibbles – I really don’t like dry-food.

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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