While running on Bull Creek Trail this morning, esteemed microprocessor architect, Eric Holbrook made an astonishing breakthrough theory. I innocently asked the question, “Do you think cockroaches come up out of the drains to get in the house?” Eric immediately threw cold water on my Drain Theory, and exclaimed, “Everybody knows that all of the socks that get lost in the washing turn into cockroaches.” Everybody indeed.

So, the discussion inevitably turned to the famous English chemist, Joseph Priestley who discovered oxygen and carbon dioxide. He noticed that if a mouse was placed in a bell jar by itself it would get sick and die, but if he put a plant in there to keep him company, the mouse could survive indefinitely. I started wondering what would happen if you placed a Venus Flytrap and loads of flies in a glass jar. Would the plant eat the flies and then not have any carbon dioxide to breathe? Just for good measure, I’d put a candle in there too and let them all fight it out for survival. What I would like to be the result is a giant implosion that creates a rip in the space-time continuum so I can visit the year 1703 and witness the invention of pudding. I’m not sure if any of this is possible, but someone needs to try.

Today, Cap’n W.G. Fancypants and I were comiserating about all of the lame bands and people that spam you on myspace begging to be friended. We armchair psychoanalyzed this behavior as a consequence of bands trying to inflate their popularity and lonely people looking for attention. We came up with a brilliant money-making strategy whereby we’d send back a paypal link with a bill for how much cheddar it would take to friend them. We even developed a mathematical formula where the cost of friendship would vary in direct proportion with social ineptitude, lack of artistic signifigance, and whether or not they live in 78704. Fancypants then took it up a notch by suggesting some kind of insane, eHarmony-style online questionaire that would be automatically scored. He listed some of the potential friend criteria questions as, “Would you be willing to let a wasp sting you? If yes, how many?”, “Would you hit a wolf with a bat?”, “Did you ever hoard wet dynamite to keep it away from armadillos?” and “Does running in a rhombus whilst drinking Stewart’s Ginger Beer make you ambivalent?” You know… The normal things you ask a potential friend or coworker if you’ve lost your flippin’ mind.

When ordering a latte, the barrista should assume “hot” unless otherwise noted. Iced lattes are for the weak of mind and spirit who are unable to understand the beauty of hot beverages. Thus, they should be made to suffer by being forced to utter this heinous adjective every time they commit the sin. The iced latte people are almost as bad as those who order breakfast tacos without eggs. You know who you are.

Mitya000 and I got into this huge debate last night about the definition of a grotto whilst bumperman played the role of the armed moderator. Mitya000 defined it simply as “a place where Satanists meet”. I didn’t think that was right. So, I wikipedia’d it, and they describe it as “when it is not an artificial garden feature, is a cave, small or quite large, usually near water and often flooded or liable to flood at high tide.” The argument wasn’t about the definition so much as it was my condemnation for him defining something in terms of an uncommon use. I feel that this is equivalent to me defining a duck as “something I wear on my head while yelling the constitution backwards in my neighbor’s yard”. Yes, I could do that with a duck, but that wouldn’t really describe the essence of a duck. This debate went on and on, and ended with Mitya000 eventually claiming that all information in wikipedia was wrong because it was typed in by an overweight guy Star Wars fan living in his parents’ basement. The weird thing was, previous to that statement, he used wikipedia to lookup Satanism to prove that they do indeed meet in Grottos sometimes. Bumperman thankfully moved the conversation in the direction of old timey gingersnaps after that and kind of saved the entire evening.

I found this laying around unpublished on my Wordpress backend. I think it’s some discussion about Halloween costumes that me and BJ had last October, but I don’t remember the context. Nonetheless, it amuses me, and I needed to do something to respond to Februween.

<mitya000> you could be the limit of the speed of light.
<hoyhoy>  I'll just get a suit with italic 'c's all over it like that question mark infomercial guy.
<mitya000> I would dress up as division by zero and we could have a fight to the death.
<mitya000> If i win, the universe implodes.

I posted this one to craigslist today half-jokingly. BJ kept on about me posting to their musician community page as he won’t go there because he’s afraid of becoming a dirty hippie by merely typing the URL. Some old boy was severely nonplussed by what I thought was a damn funny bass ad. His response read, “Wow, you guys are too clever. I mean, cheese wheels! WOW! How witty. Man, I really hope you guys find that perfect bass player who learned how to play yesterday and isn’t too fat for your MySpace-savvy deluded image. Grow up.” C’mon, cheese wheels are funny. What else ships in wheel form? Am I wrong?

* Oh, and for the record, the “NO FATTIES” thing in my ad was a reference to some weird thing that David Cross used to put at the end of every fake classified ad on Mr. Show. I didn’t realize how offensive that was in pseudo real life.