Sunday, August 29, 2004
Sad People
It was just a moment ago I was reading some guys blog about himself, and he's really sad because he can't date the girl he likes, and there's a girl he doesn't like, etc. etc. etc. So the point is, sad people are sad because they're sad people are sad because they're sad people...
Their problem is they can't do something they want to, so they are looking for an outlet of feelings, like for example enlisting in the Marines so they can blow up stuff, like terrorists. Or, just buying a lot of firecrackers and throwing them at terrorists. Or, just buying a sniper rifle and shooting terrorists. They are looking for something legal to take out their anger on. What they don't understand is that it's a choice. They can be sad, with everything weighing them down, or they can be happy, blowing something up. It's along the same lines as the outlet for the Noogie Gene*.
For example, an old friend, Tim, when he broke up with his wife, got himself hired at a mining camp as explosives expert. He's cheerful and perky again! Another friend, Robert, lost his mother and father. He bought lots of firecrackers and launched them at the old house. He's as happy as can be!
Explosives are exactly what the world needs to combine letoff of the Noogie Gene and the Sadness Effect. Because people like to blow stuff up.
I have, for example, blown up a beaver's dam with a quarter stick of dynamite, and thrown very explosive firecrackers at trees.
I've been to court two more times.
*See "Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys"
Their problem is they can't do something they want to, so they are looking for an outlet of feelings, like for example enlisting in the Marines so they can blow up stuff, like terrorists. Or, just buying a lot of firecrackers and throwing them at terrorists. Or, just buying a sniper rifle and shooting terrorists. They are looking for something legal to take out their anger on. What they don't understand is that it's a choice. They can be sad, with everything weighing them down, or they can be happy, blowing something up. It's along the same lines as the outlet for the Noogie Gene*.
For example, an old friend, Tim, when he broke up with his wife, got himself hired at a mining camp as explosives expert. He's cheerful and perky again! Another friend, Robert, lost his mother and father. He bought lots of firecrackers and launched them at the old house. He's as happy as can be!
Explosives are exactly what the world needs to combine letoff of the Noogie Gene and the Sadness Effect. Because people like to blow stuff up.
I have, for example, blown up a beaver's dam with a quarter stick of dynamite, and thrown very explosive firecrackers at trees.
I've been to court two more times.
*See "Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys"
Thursday, August 26, 2004
"There Ain't Nothin Like a Smoke"
Over the 11 years of my life, I've seen problems with smoking.
When you see somebody smoking, you obviously think, "Ewww, that looks disgusting. I'm never gonna be doing that. Hey, he's offering me a cigarette. Ok, Mr., I'll have a smoke with you!" See, once you've started, you can't stop. And it has physical problems, and mental problems, and dating problems.
My old friend Jim's father loved to smoke. He would not stop. But Jim had tales of his father's trouble with dating. Like the time he went upstairs on the balcony, dropped some of that wierd hot stuff from his cigarette, and burned his girlfriend's hair off. And even as the fire went on, he commented, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!"
There have been other problems that put you between a rock and a hard place. For example, in Colorado, I think, there was a ban on smoking in some town. But in that town a play was going on that required smoking. The police would not back down on the ban, and if the players did not smoke, they would be violating the copyright. The police suggested tobacco free cigarettes. It didn't work. It smelled like marijuana. The police almost made a raid because of it.
One neighbor told me the story of his "There ain't nothin like a smoke," story. He sat me down in his house, and began on his tale.
"When I was still dating, my father wanted me to marry some girl named Rebecca. I was actually in love with another girl named Pollyanna. I told Pollyanna I would take care of it on our first date.
"When we sat down to eat, I pulled out my pipe, and my friend Bob behind me pulled out a full-size fan. Rebecca didn't notice. We had a nice dinner, but then I made the sign and Bob turned it on. What happened next was a complete accident.
"The coals missed and lit a man's jacket on fire. He lept up, dropping some of the flame onto the table. It began to burn, and lit the carpet. Rebecca was devistated by the end of it; her best dress had been half burned off her body. Me and Bob somehow got off of accusations of arson. However, just the other day, I was smokin' my pipe, and I saw Rebecca and a friend walkin' past me on the street, so I commented loudly to my friend, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!" Boy, you shoulda heard here runnin down the street and screamin' here lungs out, "Arson! Aauuggh! It's the Arson Man!" It was the second time I escaped a jail setence."
Well, I've seen something like that. In fact, I had a little joke I managed on someone, it must have been Rebecca.
An old lady walked past, and I noticed she appeared the same as a picture I saw marked Rebecca. I shouted, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!"
I've been to court now.
When you see somebody smoking, you obviously think, "Ewww, that looks disgusting. I'm never gonna be doing that. Hey, he's offering me a cigarette. Ok, Mr., I'll have a smoke with you!" See, once you've started, you can't stop. And it has physical problems, and mental problems, and dating problems.
My old friend Jim's father loved to smoke. He would not stop. But Jim had tales of his father's trouble with dating. Like the time he went upstairs on the balcony, dropped some of that wierd hot stuff from his cigarette, and burned his girlfriend's hair off. And even as the fire went on, he commented, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!"
There have been other problems that put you between a rock and a hard place. For example, in Colorado, I think, there was a ban on smoking in some town. But in that town a play was going on that required smoking. The police would not back down on the ban, and if the players did not smoke, they would be violating the copyright. The police suggested tobacco free cigarettes. It didn't work. It smelled like marijuana. The police almost made a raid because of it.
One neighbor told me the story of his "There ain't nothin like a smoke," story. He sat me down in his house, and began on his tale.
"When I was still dating, my father wanted me to marry some girl named Rebecca. I was actually in love with another girl named Pollyanna. I told Pollyanna I would take care of it on our first date.
"When we sat down to eat, I pulled out my pipe, and my friend Bob behind me pulled out a full-size fan. Rebecca didn't notice. We had a nice dinner, but then I made the sign and Bob turned it on. What happened next was a complete accident.
"The coals missed and lit a man's jacket on fire. He lept up, dropping some of the flame onto the table. It began to burn, and lit the carpet. Rebecca was devistated by the end of it; her best dress had been half burned off her body. Me and Bob somehow got off of accusations of arson. However, just the other day, I was smokin' my pipe, and I saw Rebecca and a friend walkin' past me on the street, so I commented loudly to my friend, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!" Boy, you shoulda heard here runnin down the street and screamin' here lungs out, "Arson! Aauuggh! It's the Arson Man!" It was the second time I escaped a jail setence."
Well, I've seen something like that. In fact, I had a little joke I managed on someone, it must have been Rebecca.
An old lady walked past, and I noticed she appeared the same as a picture I saw marked Rebecca. I shouted, "There ain't nothin like a smoke!"
I've been to court now.
