The list that sneaks down below you.

The new Google thing.

What I like to call, 'predictive search'. Where it comes up with the most common things that people have typed into Google.
I find it absolutely entracing that it has been implemented. I get the strangest feeling that in those lists are the answers to all of human psychology and all I need to do is type in the right words.

Speaking of the right words, the words that we most struggle with as humanity and need a handy internet to define:
1) Culture
2) Ethics
3) Globilization
Impressive, in my opinion. Really open questions that can give broad, overarching answers involving philosophy, politics and actually are probably just a massive bunch of schoolkids looking to copy and paste some homework answers.

"Deine", which for those who don't know German, is the possesive pronoun, "Your".
Hilariously:
2) mutter.
Which, for those who don't know German [And have never talked to a teenager nor have a sense of logic], means "mother".

"what is":
3) What is Twitter?
A fair question.
Twitter is this: Texting in reverse. You can choose who to get messages from but not who your messages go to. It makes sense because of entropy.
4) What is love?
Awh. Isn't humanity so sweet. Even though Twitter is slightly more important.

"An elephant is":
3) Bigger than the moon.
4) Soft and mushy.
Google is either a liar. Or a hilarious prankster. Or mentally insane.
I think Google is mentally insane. If I had Three trillion websites inside my head, I'd be insane too.

"How many":
1) How many weeks pregnant am I?
Aha.

"Google is"
2) Your friend.
Awh.

If I knew the internet was going to be this nice to me, I would have typed my inane thoughts into it years ago.

Boo.

Death and life.

Given the choice of living forever or dying, I am undecided.

I mean, it'd would be great seeing how the world turns out.
See how far we get with technology. Whether we could fit a laptop inside an ipod and fit an ipod inside our head and fit our head inside the nearest empty receptacle.

Then the earth would explode. I assume at some point it's going to explode.
Scenario: The last person on Earth, has a devastatingly powerful new technology bomb (that can fit inside a cowboy hat).
Does she press the button to blow the world up?

But on the downside of living for the rest of existence (there must be one, popular culture has explained to me the pains of living forever), once the world gets old and blows up thanks to Miss OK Coral and her button-pressing ways, there isn't much to do except drift around space.

But then again, what I'm gonna do when I die is drift around space as a soul and zoom about to see all of the star clusters and nebulae and all those pretty space things anyway.

So in conclusion, death and life.


{ o o }
_._J

Is what an elephant would look like if he dressed up as a ghost on halloween.

A conversation with beer.

"What's the time?" I ask.
"It is Me O'Clock," Beer replies.
I say, "Hey. You are brown."
And Beer says, "I am Cyan. Try my caramelly and toasted hop flavour"
So I chuckle, and say firmly, "No, you are brown. Nothing nice is brown."
"What about chocolate?" Beer raises a petite eyebrow.
"Okay, chocolate is brown and nice but nothing else that's nice is brown."
"What about peanut butter?"
"Orange," I reply cannily.
"As if! Peanut butter is on our team, man," Beer makes an obscure gang sign at me. "We are all part of the same family."
"Well then," I say as I inspect a convinient spectrum. "How far does 'brown' extend?"
"All the way up to beige in that direction," Beer points it to me, "and down all the way to bermuda."
"I don't even know what bermuda is."
"That's why it's part of the browns," Beer nods sagely. "We are mysterious and arcane."
"Would you say you were antique?"
"I would say we are antic," Beer puns casually.
"Say you got every food in the world and put it into a blender."
"I won't say it," Beer explains, "Because my alcohol to body weight ratio is extraordinary and I'm surprised I can even open my mouth."
"It is a hypothetical exercise to prove a point," I persevere.
"Okay."
"Would it taste good?"
Beer considers this, "No. But I would try it."
"What colour would it be?"
"Brown!" Beer says excitedly. Then Beer makes the connection and frowns. "Oh."

And then things get a bit rowdy and one of us ends up punching the other. You know how things get when alcohol is involved.

Did You Ever.

Did you ever eat soup with your teeth closed
So you could pretend to be a blue whale?
Twice in my life I tried and did fail
When gazpacho spurted out of my nosed.

My friend laughed at me, "It's like a blowhole!"
She proclaimed herself as 'Captain Ahab'
And left me to pay the whole bar tab
She has now become my greatest foehole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A friend in need is a friend indeed: A convincingly argued essay in ten parts.

Cliches serve as an important tool for many reasons.

Firstly, they are amusing.
Take, if you will, my example of skinning a cat.
Apparently there is more than one way to skin a cat.
Catskin could be used to make clothes.
And clothes make the man.
I'm a man made out of catskin. Apparently. Who wants to skin cats? Leave the cats alone. They might join up with a gang of dogs and start raining on us.

Different strokes for different folks.
Too true, my cliched friend.
Secondly, cliches are sexual.
Sexual like a fox.
As sexual as a wham-bam thank-you Ma'm. I just bent her all out of shape then knocked her socks off.
Slippery when wet.

Thirdly, cliches and myself see eye to eye on many aspects of life.
We both love seeing the pool of language being diddled with.
We both know that one can never cease all diddling of language, [I use 'one', because as we both know I am a gentleman and a scholar.]
One can only diddle with language properly if he joins all of the other diddlers in the deep end.

Fourthly, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
For the first few minutes, anyway.
Then he would be a dead king.
Who the hell would believe someone if they said they could see when noone else could?
Look what they did to Jesus.
People. You can always trust people to be people.
Therefore fourthly, cliches are the best way to describe people. Because people = cliches.
Which came first, the person, or the cliche?

Fifthly, cliches are philosophical.
Philosophical like a fox.
Ever found yourself in a hole?
Hmmm. That cliche there needs some serious punctuation.
Because I don't know if I've ever found 'myself in a hole'.
Neither have I 'found myself', in a hole.
Or been walking along and suddenly stumbled across myself in a hole. Possibly a future version of me that has come back in time to warn me about falling into holes.
Ever found a hole in yourself? Metaphorically, I mean. What's gross for the goose is also gross for the gander. I shall have no smut in my fifthly argued point.
Sixthly, cliches are reversible if deep metaphorical ponderings are needed to be done.

You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.
But you catch even more flies with shite.
The only thing more useless than shite? Fly-covered shite.
Seventhly, cliches are shite. Heh. Shite.

Eighthly, using cliches is like reinventing the wheel.

You know what really gets my goat?
When I get bats in the bellfry.
Ninthly, cliches make no sense at all.

Tenthly, cliches are unbearable.
Almost as unbearable as puns. Ever seen a bear wearing clothes that it has superglued to itself? It's an un-bare-able animal.

The light at the end of the tunnel: It seems the cat has got my tongue. It's bitten off more than it can chew. I am now beating a hasty retreat to the land of nod, in order to get forty winks.
If only I had some cat's pyjamas to wear.

And now the mice can play.