Scared Bunny

Can you believe I forgot what I was going to write about? This morning, I knew. Then the whole day was insanely hectic, and I totally forgot. I do know this; I am not going to get any inspiration watching my son play Rayman 3 on his PS2.

I have decided I am going to pick some celebrity at random and once a week I'll send them all of the junk mail I get. I don’t really know why I want to do this, but I do. I think it will confuse the hell out of some poor assistant that can’t figure out why she’s getting envelopes of Albertson’s ads and ValPak coupons. I enjoy confusing people I don’t know.

I also have been thinking about what the Nation of Islam teaches about finding a wife. They say you need a woman half your age plus 7 years. Therefore, I need a 24 year old. But, in 2 years, I’ll need a 25 year old, but my bride will be 26. So I think that means you need a new wife every 2 years. That must be were the polygamy thing comes in. You have to be able to have more than one wife because you need a new one every 2 years and divorce is frowned upon. On the surface this seems like a good deal, because you keep getting wives much younger than you are. But the downside is that you end up with a lot of wives to deal with. I had enough trouble with just one wife. I guess I’ll just have to find another fringe religion.

I have also decided I am going to buy some Scared Bunny t-shirts to have to fling on stage when I go to concerts. Between the musicians with no fashion sense and the roadies that seem to wear only free t-shirts, I am sure someone will get use out of them. And then people will see the shirt, check out the site, and wonder why the fuck anyone would be wearing a shirt advertising this blog. It gets back to that confusing strangers thing.

I also want to tell everyone that doesn’t already to go check out Team Wilco. Those guys are funny as hell. They have an unnatural obsession with the Dallas Mavericks, but that’s all sequestered in their Sports section, so if you don’t want to read about them, it’s easy to avoid. But even their sports coverage has a different twist. To be blunt, these guys are about as twisted and un-PC as you can get while still remaining someone to laugh with instead of someone to laugh at. They’re covering the massive fire in Ft. Worth, which is about the only interesting thing that happened here today.

That reminds me of a story. When I was in high school chemistry, we didn’t really pay much attention in class. Our school had a really well stocked chemistry lab. And, being a guy that meant all sorts of ways to blow shit up. This was before the Internet made it possible to build a nuke from the items in your pantry, so we had to find other ways to get fun recipes. It just so happens that the book “The Anarchist Cookbook” was circulating on floppy disk at the time, so we all had copies.

That book had all sorts of fun things in it, but for us it was all about the bombs and smoke bombs. We started with smoke bombs of course, and had the school not sprung for a huge ventilation hood we would have forced evacuation many times. But before long we needed something more. That’s where explosives came to play.

First, I must give credit where credit is due. Our school sure took our chemistry education seriously. We tried out almost every recipe in the book and we never didn’t have a chemical on hand that the recipe called for.

Anyway, there was one specific explosive that got my attention. I don’t remember what it was called, but the cookbook said it was extremely unstable. Since I am also extremely unstable, this was the bomb for me. It also had one great characteristic. The ingredients could be easily divided in to two categories: crystals and liquids. So I had a great idea. I could mix all the crystals in one beaker, and all the liquids in another, and then set it off when I found a way to safely mix them. So I did. I even taped a sign to the beakers that said, “Do not mix. They will explode.”

Well, the problem with that kind of sign is that it tends to get the attention of other males. In this case, it got the attention of the chemistry teacher. (Note to female readers: We do not outgrow our inability to follow instructions, nor our enjoyment of burning things and blowing shit up.)

Anyway, the teacher was in there one weekend and saw the beakers and the sign. Naturally, being male, he wanted to see what would happen if he mixed them. The good news is that he wasn’t seriously injured, and all of the evidence that could have tied me to the explosion was destroyed. The bad news…well…those big ventilation hoods are really expensive. Luckily for me, the teacher couldn’t exactly let everyone know what happened because then he’d have to explain why we were mixing chemicals in the lab with no supervision. So the official story was, and probably still is, that various chemical experiments were accidentally knocked over and the resulting explosion was completely unforeseeable.

I also have to say that I am still having fucked up dreams. This time a friend and I were given tickets to a Mets game. This is odd since neither of us lives anywhere near New York, nor do either of us like the Mets. But we got the tickets and went to the game. The tickets, though, let us sit on the Mets bench. You would think this would be a great baseball dream, but you’d be wrong. Instead, in the dream, Howard Stern and a couple of the guys from his show joined us on the bench. We spent the rest of the dream talking to Stern, and even went to a birthday party he threw for one of his daughters. I have no idea what inspired this dream or what it meant, but it was peculiar.

For the record, Dream Howard Stern is a very nice guy.

And, I have to say something else. I watch the TV and see these commercials for text chat with hot women. Who are these fucking idiot guys that are buying this service? In the commercial they show these hot women sitting in a bar texting on their phones. Now I have known some fucked up women, as you all know, but I have never been on a date with a chick where she was having text sex with another guy on her cell.

I get the feeling these women aren’t texting on their cell phones. I get the feeling they aren’t hot. I even get the feeling they aren’t women. I just have this image of some computer somewhere generating random sex talk to any dumbass that will spend the money. I mean at least with phone sex you have a human voice so you can reasonably convince yourself there is some hot chick on the other end that just needs the money. But how do you actually convince yourself that there are hot women who actually are sitting somewhere texting you? I don’t care what anyone does with their money, and I don’t fault anyone who can get some jackass to give them money. But this shit is so stupid I just want to slap these guys.

Guys…there are porn tapes and DVD’s. Any number of web sites will show you women doing anything you can possibly imagine. There’s webcam sex, porn books, porn magazines, Penthouse Letters and, for the really twisted, Love Lines with Dr, Drew. There are sex video games and you can get a download so you can even see The Sims naked. If you want to jerk off, there’s any number of ways to get stimulated. Please don’t make me consider the possibility that there are people whose greatest turn on is having a computer send you the message “fuK me hrd bb. u mak me throb”.

It just makes me feel sad for America.