Scientist, Quotier Extroardinaire

April 15, 2014 § Leave a comment

Perhaps poetry was not such a great idea.

It turns out my life’s calling as a poet was not quite as life-calling-ey as I thought. It turns out no one wants to read poems about UFOs, and who knew the name Robert Burns was already taken? I sure didn’t.

I think I should try being a scientist. That is, not the kind of scientist who is remembered for his ever-so-important work in the field of quantum mechanics, but rather the kind who is famous for his ever-so-inspirational quotes.

Maybe I made unprecedented advancements in theoretical physics, perhaps I more or less invented the atom bomb; none of that matters, really.

Incidentally, while the following quotes are often attributed to Albert Einstein, there's no evidence to show that these particular quotes were said or written by him.

Nietsnie Trebla

I already have some quotes for the presses:

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

“Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

“It is the responsibility of every human being to aspire to do something worthwhile, to make this world a better place than the one he found.”

It doesn’t matter if my IQ is 400 (which it is… I took an online test), the people will love me for my inspirational quotes, so that is what I will give them. I was just thinking, it’s too bad they don’t give out a Nobel prize for saying inspirational things because it would be awarded to me, no doubt.

Mr. Burns

March 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

“Excellent!”

I’ve decided to become a poet. I will take the literary world by storm, by fire, by the horns. Here is a sample of my poetry.

Transport me.

There was a bike
Ridden by a tike,
Hike.

Trolley,
That is folly.

Never far
When you travel by car.

Talk about UFO;
Now that is the way to go.

Pure genius, right? Yes, I understand your sentiment exactly. In fact I plan on becoming world-famous in a matter of weeks. I would go by a pen name, or perhaps a sword name.

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Okay, a pen name. What poet would ever go by the name ‘Jay’? I’ve chosen the name Robert Burns. It seems like a name that a great poet would wear; a name that would indeed make me famous. I’ve even got a photo for when I’m published.

I mean no disrespect to the true, illustrious, Scottish poet Robert Burns. He will always remain great among other poets. Hats off to him.

Truly, the demeanor of a great poet, #amiright

I will make my fortune by a series of my poems being read by James Earl Jones on pay-per-view television. Keep your eyes, ears, and your television peeled.

Sincerely,
Jay

It’s Called a Potoo

January 26, 2014 § 1 Comment

I’ve been told that anyone who makes it their business to be familiar with literature should know the quote by William Wordsworth in which he says that poetry is “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.”

What a quote. For one thing, it sounds good. In the case of quotes, that trait often overrides the characteristic of having a logical argument. And honestly, I have often felt that what this statement is saying is true. Poetry is like a more convenient form of journal-ling for me. It’s often involuntary. Maybe it is the result of reading a lot of poems when I was younger, or perhaps it is an inherent trait. Whatever the case, reading that line (taken from the Preface to Lyrical Ballads, an anthology of poems by Wordsworth and Coleridge) stirred a sort of poetry-loving-patriotism in me. It really got me. It was like Wordsworth was leaping forward in time, whispering in my ear, and explaining who I was.

It's nothing special. That is the joke.

A poet.

And while I’m not so sure that theory works for every form of art, there’s a pretty good chance that it applies to the highest forms of literature. For instance: Blog posts.

So here’s the spontaneous blog post of a lifetime.

Today I read some of Isaac Asimov’s science fiction novel Foundation. I know what you’re thinking: “What a staggering epic.” “Staggering?” I reply. But I noticed: they never mention Christmas. Preserving the “great” culture of humanity, and you don’t even have a Christmas? Lame.

No green shirts? Yawn.

No green shirts? Yawn.

I mean, come on. The absence of Christmas alone is enough to drag me out of a story and make me realize that what I’m reading is only so much thirst-induced desert mirage material. So much for the willful suspension of disbelief (a term actually coined by Coleridge, ooh look continuity).

Not that including Christmas would be great for every sci fi epic. One slight miscalculation, and you’ll end up recalling every copy of your holiday special as though each one carried a live bomb that would explode the house of any family that popped it into their VCR. 

I'd show you a pic of the actual holiday special, but I don't hate you.

George Lucas has a lot to answer for.

The point is, writing’s hard. And not everyone can do it, no matter what the self help books say. Okay, now I’m going to lunch. I challenge my co-writers to rise to the challenge and compliment my brief but worthwhile post with some thoughts of their own. In closing, this bird exists.

aaH!

You? What are you even…. you know what, nevermind.

June 22, 2013 § 1 Comment

Today I learned that if lapels don’t scare you, nothing will.

My co-authors have no doubt managed to expel this blog and all of its contents from their tiny brains like guppy minded landlords evicting tardy tenants. In the midst of it all, I have remained vigilant. Silently vigilant. Like Batman, tearfully watching the season finale of Downton Abbey.

HE IS THE NIGHT

I have neither the budget nor the patience. Here’s a chubby puppy.

What my co-authors do not know is that during my long vigil I have developed both an impeccable comedic taste and an insatiable thirst for revenge. They believe they are safe. They will never be so. Even now, my spies watch them. Ready to move. Ready to strike.

HE IS THE NIGHT

 Do you hear that? It is the chilling sound of your doom.

Tell me what was so important…

January 6, 2012 § Leave a comment

Here. For those of you that thought we were not around: Well, we haven’t been. You were right.

We were away. Doing important things. Things like learning, and running away, and skipping stones, but mostly eating. We did it all. And now, we (me) are back. And boy do we (I) have a story.

I was out on the town, buying some coffee. The proverbial town was a gas station, and I was inside of it. I payed for the coffee. I drank some. I realized, “Hey, what would be the best thing that could happen now? If I found a semi-fresh doughnut in my right hand.” It didn’t happen. I cried. The cashier asked me to step away from the counter.

That is the moral of the story. You don’t always get what you want. And sometimes things are not what they seem. For instance, that cashier seemed like a compassionate individual on first glance. But when the tears started flowing, she started showing that she was unsympathetic to cry-loitering.

Another example of things being not what they seem: I said that we were all out learning. This is only half true. And that just now was only a third true, as the original statement was really a whole two thirds true. (I’m a deliciously unreliable narrator). Jay and I have been learning. Derek has been sitting in his basement, drinking Ale81’s and watching re-runs of Golden Girls. And I mean, who can blame him? What isn’t endearing about the story of four dirty-minded elderly women and their scandalous blind-date-related shenanigans?

And that theme song!

So now you know what we’ve been doing, and I’ve given you cause to laugh at Derek’s life. It’s pretty silly. But I have made my post, and now it’s somebody else’s turn. I’ll leave you with some more poetry:

The Derek that sleeps on couch,

is often seen just as a slouch.

This isn’t quite true,

he likes to paint too.

Though mostly he just paints the couch.

Ha ha… that was stupid.

-Tony

A South American Escapade

May 17, 2011 § Leave a comment

I have a dream…

[Epic voice off]

Er… had a dream.

It all began in Venezuela. Or was it Bolivia? I don’t really know. It was one of those countries down there. You know… The one Hugo Chavez is El Presidenté of.

The name is Chavez... Hugo Chavez.

How do I know this? Well, I was sitting in a chair… Across from Hugo Chavez.

At first, not a word was said. I stared into his dark, beady eyes, and he stared into mine. My eyes aren’t beady like his, so obviously he won the staring contest. I like to blame it on my eye contacts which inconveniently happened to be feeling a little dry right then.

I never realized how much a blink can break the ice. I could just feel the tension melt when I revealed that one little weakness within myself.

“You want a smoke? I have a Cuban just for you!” Chavez said.

Before I could answer, he snapped his finger and in walked a man…

A smoking hot Cuban!

I’d never seen such a mystery. A Cuban who appeared to have a lush beard, and no facial hair at the same time!

While I was still pondering over this mystery, I forgot to accept or politely decline this Cuban. Chavez was therefore offended by my lack of manners and proceeded to pull out a knife and clean his teeth with it, while his guard shot me in the head.

End of dream.

Sincerely,

Jay

The Curse of the Bunny

May 6, 2011 § 1 Comment

It’s currently Thursday, 2:22 PM. Which would be true if it was. Tony is rocking back and forth on the floor, Jay is rocking back and forth on a rocking chair.

I am currently otherwisely occupied by terrorists.

They’re not very nice terrorists. They stole my chocolate bunny.

It all started at exactly a week or a couple days ago at sometime in the morning. Or afternoon. I was just about to bite into the sweet sweet Russell Stover chocolate bunny I acquired from my local CVS, when suddenly…..

…I realized I hadn’t taken it out of the plastic box yet, and decided it would be quite foolish of me to try to eat the plastic box along with the bunny. So I took the bunny out of the box, and suddenly a ninja-terrorist (or ninjist) jumped through the ceiling onto my head!

For a moment, he just sorta stood there. Looking all confused and bewildered, like he didn’t intend to make me nearly soil my britches. However, I knew better. So I just looked up (a very difficult task when a ninjist is standing on one’s head), stared right into his soul and growled: “I KNOW BETTER.”

This must have snapped him out of his little charade, because instantly he jumped off my head and snatched my chocolate bunny. This made me extraordinarily angry. Then, in true ninjist fashion, he left, without saying a word.

Three days went by (or perhaps four), and no sign of the dastardly criminal. Also no sign of the chocolate bunny, or a drywaller to fix the drywall that the ninjist destroyed. That’s how you know if it’s a true ninjist by the way, as opposed to not one. Ninjists never send repairmen to repair the damage they cause.

Which is actually rather childish, when you think about it. I mean, come on, you stole my chocolate bunny, why not at least pitch in to patch the ceiling? The ceiling got nothing against you. Apparently my chocolate bunny did, but not my ceiling.

So I started the hunt for my chocolate bunny. I searched high and low for weeks, and found nothing. No ninjist, no bunny. I was starting to give up hope. When suddenly…..

A WHOLE HERD OF NINJISTS STARTED PARADING DOWN THE STREET. WITH GIANT SLINGSHOTS.

Which begs the question, is it “ninjists”, or “ninjist” for the plural of the word? Debate that below in the comments.

I recognized the leader ninjist’s soul, and brazenly approached him. “You stole my BUNNY.”

Then he recognized my distinctive aura of previous chocolate bunny ownership, and brazenly placed me in a giant slingshot. Then, he threw the slingshot as far as he could see.

This ended up with me blasting through a certain wall like the Kool-Aid man. It was then Thursday, 2:22 PM. Which would be true if it was. Tony was rocking back and forth on the floor, Jay was rocking back and forth on a rocking chair.

I never got back my chocolate bunny.

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