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Random nonsense from online forums and newsgroups.
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NOTICE:
Please do not follow this link if you are easily offended by humor of a religious nature.
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Lunatim's
B
ELIEVE
I
T OR
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TUFF
I
T!
Did you know that cole slaw was neither invented by Old King Cole, nor is there a vegetable known as 'slaw'?
Believe It or Stuff It!
Did you know that the 'pigskins' used in football are actually goat bladders stuffed with kangaroo livers and tied with cat intestines?
Believe It or Stuff It!
Did you know that broccoli is composed of tiny, sentient microörganisms who play Parcheesi and discuss Sartre endlessly?
Believe It or Stuff It!
The Dangers of Thinking too Deeply
a self-annihilating koan in 77-1/2 words
Dr. Eugene Fyodorov, Professor Emeritus of Applied Metaphysics at Paine University, sat next to the window in his fourth floor office, stared languidly out at some students playing hacky sack on the Quad, and pondered, "If Millner's Third Quantum Mechanical Postulate is observed through a neo-Ganzian reference frame, then the Causality Wave Function reverses from inverse to direct solipsism, therefore creating a Fortean paradox at the heart of Reality, thus instantly causing the Universe to cease to ex
Frightmare!
Did I ever tell you about the Halloween party I went to? It was held in the dungeon of the Vampire State Building. There was plenty of Ghoul-Aid, distilled spirits, ice scream, and corn on the macabre to go around. Frankenstein’s monster got himself together and attended. He was all in stitches at the Wolf Man’s jokes which were a real howl. The Mummy sat off to the side since he was all wrapped up in himself. Red Skeleton was there, having flown in to Boo York that morning on a scareplane. Casper was able to take time off from his job at Ghost-to-Ghost Hardware and attend. He was in good spirits, especially when King Kong played Gorilla My Dreams on the piano. Mr. Kong almost went ape when he couldn’t fit in the normal elevator, but we were able to get him down to the dungeon in the fright elevator instead. Dracula got drunk from sucking down too many Bloody Marys, though, and told a zombie who was on leave from the Marine Corpse to get a life. The zombie decked him, and he was down for the Count.
Rock On!
Did I ever tell you about my pet rock? His name was Cary Granite and he came from Boulder, Colorado. I really loved him; he was naughty, but gneiss. I used to take him out for a drag every day, and we’d often vacation in Pebble Beach. However, he’d sit around all day, gathering moss and listening to rock music while getting stoned. Sometimes, he’d drink too many Rolling Rocks and commit basalt and battery against me. I was really between him and a hard place. Finally, I told him he was taking me for granite, but he told me I was full of schist. So, I threw him out. He hopped a freight train on the Rock Island Line, and later became a roadie for the Rolling Stones. Still, to this day, whenever I visit Stonehenge or watch the Flintstones, I sometimes get sedimental about my old buddy.
The Recursive Curse
Lunatim sat in his artist's loft, reading a strange book called Bödel, Gescher, Hofstadter by Douglas Bach. In it, a character named the Mock Duck was explaining the concept of recursiveness to his friends. He said, " Last night, dear friends, I was visiting the Theatre of the Mind over in West Platonica, and saw the weirdest movie. I think it was called Heckzappopin'. This one character, Chick Jolson, says to the other, " Say, Ohnson, didja read that book by that feller Norm D. Plume? It was about 'worlds within worlds' or somethin' high-brow like that. This Norm feller wrote, " Last night I fell asleep thinking about how I would write this chapter. That must have been why I dreamt of this person Tim Fort with a rubber chicken on his head who was waving his arms and shouting, " Aarrrrgggggghhhhh! I have this powerful feeling of déjà vu that I can't shake off! Oh, and I also have a rubber chicken on my head! " " " "
The Legion of SASSY
Anti-heroes for a Slacker generation.
Introducing SASSY, the Slack Attack Society for Subgenii and Yeti! It is a collective of super anti-heroes, übergeeks, and ultra-nerds who are too weird to join the ranks of normal superheroes. The glorious roster of SASSY is as follows:
Thuperman
Bounding gracefully through the air in his utterly, utterly chic purple Spandex® tights, Thuperman is devoted to the slackful overthrow of homophobes and people who wear too much polyester. He can jump to conclusions in a single bound and is able to coordinate curtains and doilies faster than a speeding locomotive. He poses as mild-mannered Sylvester Periwinkle, top hair dresser at Gotham Coiffures, but when there's a cry for Slack, our hero springs into action, swishing into and coming out of a nearby closet as Thuperman!
Kvantum Klaus
Blond-haired, blue-eyed Bavarian physicist dedicated to the overthrow of fascism and the propagation of multi-culturalism everywhere. When he isn't kicking ARSEHOLEs, he is devoted to the Rastafarian religion, Thai cuisine, Bengali poetry, and classic Yiddish humor. By making weird gestures, often confused by onlookers with flashbacks or Tourette's Syndrome, he is able to alter the Continuum of Quantum Causality so that freak accidents, infused with lots of irony, happen to his slackless foes. Favorite quantum weapons of his include the Giant Snotball from Space and the dreaded Scheißesturm.
The Qrazy Qlown Posse
Multi-cultural, multi-species, mult-planetary group of commando clowns who cruise the mean streets in tiny, DayGlo®-colored cars. Their weapons of choice include the TAF-28 automatic custard-pie thrower, the mobile Laughing-Gas Chamber, and when things get almost serious, they may even open up a Big Can o' Whoopee!
Roly Polly
Also known as Agent 44 Double D, our lusty, busty heroine with the hippest hips defiantly dares to face the world with positive self-esteem. When she isn't flattening losers whose trucks have 'No Fat Chicks' bumper stickers or helping to feed banana splits to starving anorexics in first-world countries, she performs in Wagnerian operas, acts as Klondike Kate in a local festival, and occasionally poses for the centerfold of Chocolate Lovers' Bulletin.
They are engaged in constant, unending struggle with the dark forces of ARSEHOLE, the Anal-Retentive Society of Epicene Humans for the Oppression of Levity Everywhere. Members of ARSEHOLE can usually be spotted by their distinctive pained expression as if they're crapping out a pineapple. They are undead mutants who lack the facial musculature needed to laugh or smile and are doomed to wander the earth leaving a trail of boring documents, nasty voice mails, chewed pencils, and other distinctive spoor. They are almost as powerful as SASSY; therefore the fight between Slack and Antislack will be a long, drawn-out one, lasting through countless comic books, animated series, fast-food promos, and lucrative merchandizing schemes.
Pointless Slacker Koan
a true koan-head dedicated to wasting electrons
One day, a seeker of wisdom known as Norm 'Norman' de Plume was walking through the Zippy Memorial Garden. Just then he encountered Slackmeister Lunatim sitting under a giant anthropomorphic lobster, pasting losing lottery tickets into an album. He suddenly asked, "O Venerable Lunatim, which of the sixty-four-fold paths is the one true metacosmology? None but you could answer such a riddle." Slackmeister Lunatim contemplated this for exactly twenty-eight minutes, then placed a solitary pomegranate seed upon the student's head and said, "Heh heh, heh heh, you said 'but', young accolyte, heh heh, heh heh."
Old 'Fake Ad' Contest Winner
Find the 'real' ad and don't win two tickets to Gumby & The All-Rubber Band in concert at the Buffoon Saloon. Just clip the ad you've chosen as real, stick it up your butt, and send yourself to: GET REAL!, c/o City Pages, 666 Lupino Lane, Mpls., MN 90210, along with your credit card numbers and MMPI evaluation. Only 1 entry wins, but not yours. All entries must be received before the second coming of 'Bob'.
Acrobatic Acronyms
Mr. Tgif: Thank heavens the weekend's almost here! Everybody goin' to the big party?
Monsieur Rsvp: Oui! Whoever's going better send a reply as soon as they get their invitations.
Señor Asap: Sí, and whoever is doing the invitations should send them out as soon as possible.
Dr. Diy: I did 'em myself just recently. Quite professional looking, if I do say so...
Ms. Imho: Well, it's only my opinion, but I could have done a better job with the invitations.
Prof. Afaic: As far as it concerns me, both Dr. Diy and Ms. Imho are both good at writing invitations.
Mrs. Btw: Pardon my extraneous comment, but there's going to be a kinetic artist at the party.
Herr Lol: Ja, und I like to laugh loudly vhen I vatch kinetic art!
Madam Rotfl: I'm sure we'll all be rolling around with laughter at the party!
A Philosophical Treatise on the Road Runner Cartoons
To all you uninitiated out there, Warner Brother's Road Runner cartoons seem like a mindlessly fun way to pass time. However, to us intelligensia who have devoted fifteen or more years in pursuit of a degree in Philosophy, these cartoons are replete with metaphysical profundities that are worthy of a large research grant.
Let us first examine the main eponym for whom the series is named. The Road Runner first made his debut in 1949, about the same time that his contemporary, Jack Kerouac, also decided to go "on the road". William Blake once said that the inspired could see the world in a grain of sand; considering the Road Runner's desert milieu, he ('his' gender never really was specified) must be inundated in a virtual infinity of inspirational worlds. Going beyond Cunard's slogan that "getting there is half the fun", our hero devotes his entire life to the journey that only ends in death, rather than being detracted by mundane activities like hunting wabbits. His Zen attitude towards existence was believed to be the inspiration for the band Aerosmith to later croon "Life's a journey, not a destination."
But, you may retort, the Road Runner seems such a simplistic, bird-brained character who says nothing but "Beep, beep!" That innocuous-seeming phrase (actually, "Meep, meep!" to us cognoscenti), is actually a wry commentary on the encroachment of the four-wheeled demon on the Road Runner's territory. With this terse phrase, he expresses the profound thought that "Carfree is carefree." Then there's the other sound he makes: the high-pitched "pung, pung" noise that sounds vaguely like a finger being pulled out of a Coke bottle. It's actually a series of applied metaphysical formulae expressed in the highly articulated Avian language. Yes, our fast feathered friend is one of the greatest intellectual giants in existence.
Let us now turn to his eternal nemesis, Wile E. Coyote. Unlike our androgynous friend the Road Runner, Mr. Coyote's gender is not ambiguous. He is the embodiment of the testosterone-crazed Authority Figure who literally tries to devour the free spirits of the world. The fact that he doesn't patronize the local Arizona Fried Roadrunner franchise clearly demonstrates that his urges go beyond mere bird-based nutrition. His attempts to warp spacetime to his advantage through the employment of Jet-Powered Boomerangs and Earthquake Pills demonstrates a preoccupation with logical positivism. He is a learned, pompous ass who constantly refers to himself as a Genius, but has never confronted the fact that he is a knave. To paraphrase Chuck Jones quoting the philosopher Santayana, the Coyote is the embodiment of the zealot who doubles his efforts when his original goal has been forgotten.
Finally, there's the mysterious entity known as ACME. One rumor, credited to the Illuminati, says that it's an acronym for 'American Committee for Metaphysical Engineering', but that has since been discounted. Either way, this enigmatic organization seems to embody the spirit of science, of making the physical world do one's bidding. Their motto seems to be 'Knowledge is power', whether that power is for good or evil; for capturing one's dinner or for falling off a cliff. However, postmodern analysis shows the Sissyphean futility of dealing with this mysterious corporation.
One could easily write a 600-page tome covering all the subtleties of this profound series of animated shorts; pending my $100,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Terminally Lazy, this may be my next big literary achievement. Detractors may say 'Paradigms are a dime a pair, so quit yer intellectualizin' and get a real job', but I'll just drop an anvil on their head. Meep, meep!
"Thank you, thank you folksh for coming here tonight. And I'd like to thank alcohol for existing, because, *hiccup* let me tell ya a little secret--with it I'm a lousy Dean Martin imitation; with it, and with a million other drugs, I'm Keith Richards."
sfx='rimshot' text='barrrump, bump, tchhhhh'
sfx='canned laughter track #2'
"But sherioushly, folks, the Rolling Stones have been around for like, what'd ya say, Frankie, um, forty yearsh, or shomething. And they ain't getting younger either. Like, it'sh Paint it Gray, baby!"
sfx='canned laughter track #3'
"I mean, c'mon, theshe guysh are like Rudy Vallee playin' at Woodshtock or shomethin'!"
sfx='canned laughter track #4'
vfx='Sammy cracks up with laughter'
"I shuggest they change their namesh to The Rattlin' Bones..."
sfx='rimshot' text='barrrump, bump, tchhhhh'
sfx='laughter track with applause #1A'
As I write, I'm doing the final rendering of a hyper-dimensional holovideo that compresses the current MTV experience into a single minute. OK, gotta reticulate splines. There, I have it! You, dear Reader, will be the first to witness this historical moment as I describe in text what I see on my RealHologram Player.
OK, I see the MTV logo ... so far, so good ... with a sky behind the logo ... OK ... and an airplane with the Nike swoosh on the side ... somebody's just jumped out of the plane on a sky-surfin' board ... it appears to be J-Lo with a purple Mohawk ... and she's playing a guitar ... and wearing a baseball cap ... with Ozzy's cigar stub in her mouth ... and she's playing some unidentifiable suburban hip-hop/Top 40 something ... and lands without a parachute on a beach in the middle of a corporate logo painted in the sand ... leaving a Wile-Coyotesque crater ... and is surrounded by 10,000 dancing anorexic humanoids on spring break ... junk-food snarfing people who are "2 kewl 4 u!" ... and is buried under sand by the Jackasses ... who then behead themselves with 'xtreem' chainsaws ... ahhhhh, M-T-, Empty Television ... brain going into shutdown mode ... Beta waves subsiding ...
ARRRRGGGGHGHHHHHH!!!!!! Like, duh, or something! MTV permanently shrinking my brain!!!!! Getting stupd, makeying speling erors, gotta go drroool in corner...
Things to Ponder on a Sleepless Night
1. Why don't people on TV ever go to the bathroom or waste their time sitting around watching TV?
2. If you bumped off Snap, Crackle, and Pop, and assassinated King Vitamin, would that make you a cereal killer?
3. If they can make a bed that folds into a couch, how come they can't make a waterbed that folds into an aquarium?
4. What happens when the basement of an office building fills up with escalator steps?
5. Why don't people who often get abducted by aliens ever walk around with GPS equipment and a video camera strapped to their heads?
All content courtesy of His Royal Highness, Lunatim Rex; Supreme Überführer of the 28 Known Metaphysical Realms; King of Kong Island; Emperor of Atlantis, Shangri La, Boxen, and Cloud-Cuckoo Land; Satrap of Crap; Doctor of Orgasmology, cum laude; Viceroy of Vice; Under-Sub-Vicar of "Bob"; Defender of the Clown; Prince of Whales; Duke of Hurl; and 3rd Runner-Up of the 1997 Smelby County Armpit Flatulence Contest; the First, Esq., Ph.D., Etc.