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50th Post Krunktacular!

October 26, 2009

Can you believe it was 50 posts ago that I posted my very first post? HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!!!!

When a TV show celebrates a momentous occasion like this, the program’s participants celebrate by creating an episode that’s really just a series of clips from old episodes. The theory behind this practice is that somehow, laughter will occur despite and/or due to the total lack of context and the fact that you’ve already seen all of the material before.

Everyone hates clip shows and everyone knows they aren’t funny. But they keep being made! Because that’s what human beings do: the same thing over and over, irregardless of the consequences. Irregardless!

Now that we’re in the age of postmodernism, the writers of clip shows usually have one of the characters comment, at some point during the negligible amount of original material that occurs between the clips, that clip shows are annoying or lame. These two seconds of cheeky self-reference are supposed to make up for the artless splicing that is the rest of the episode.

Well, I’m so postmodern that postmodernism is going to have to be renamed penultimate modernism and modernism is going to have to be renamed antepenultimate modernism.  Men of Athens, here it is: the 50th Post Krunktacular.

There are plenty of things that the world needs even less than it needs another blog. Gangsta rap is keeping our poetic tradition alive. Shouldn’t I have stopped starting sentences with “Like”? Get your lover a hot pink heart-shaped merkin for his/her birthday. It looked like the culinary equivalent of my hands and knees after I fell off the garbage rack of a four-wheeler and went skidding down a gravel road and big flaps and chunks of my outer flesh were dangling precariously from my limbs, while other pieces had been completely gouged away by the gravel, leaving the pink inner meat painfully exposed, and the Ozonol I’d slathered liberally over the whole mess added a sticky puslike semitranslucent outer sheen through which the flesh of the more severe wounds nauseatingly peeked. I think the only way to settle the feline nature vs. nurture debate would be some kind of cat-trading experiment. Your Facebook “friend list” is not a list of your friends. If it’s of interest, the easiest and fastest way to make me love you is to inadvertently scare the shit out of me on a regular basis. There’s the old parental standby that swearing is a sign of a poor vocabulary. But that’s just cock and balls, parents. Roman history is hot right now. Feminism is hot right now. Imagine if they fell in love and started getting it on. It can be argued that divinity isn’t as interesting or profound or miraculous as humanity. And so at this point I have no choice but to dip a toe into political waters and ask my government: Gentlemen, where is my tampon refund? Among my friends I’m known as a master of brevity. As a dominatrix I’d only have to work 15 or 20 hours a week, mostly in the evenings, which would leave me plenty of time during the day to pursue my other dream job: gangsta rap ghostwriting. All was well for a few months, but if archaic poetry has taught us anything it’s that a golden age doesn’t last long. The best thing about Wasp Town is how the whole community uses the elaborate garden next door for sustenance, which really pisses off the beotch who lives there. You can never have too many SIMPLE, DELICIOUS recipes, right ladies?! It’s been conclusively demonstrated over and over at grade five sleepovers that warm water is conducive to the flow of urine, and now, finally, we can all enjoy a guilt-free morning showerpiss. I’ve got plenty of Raid for everyone. The Welsh are the grand champions of silent letters. Does the Christian Science Monitor have a mascot? Would it like one? Haha oh my look at the typo there, how did i do that? The A is nowhere near the U haha!! Creativity is no match for chronic psychological disturbance. That phial of mercury hanging out in the top left gave me pause. My relationship with raisins goes back to 1983, when I declared my love for the lady on the Sun-Maid bag. If Oxford were to publish the text of “Diarrhea,” the apparatus criticus would be insane. You can’t stop my flow, that’s for Tampax to do. Irregardless, I brought my purchases home and ravished them passionately in lieu of studying for my remaining two finals. i don’t know why it’s my destiny to always be surounded by friends who are so much hotter than me. In my opinion, it’s totally not fair for a dream to allude to events that have occurred while the dreamer was still awake. It’s making a complete mess of the linguistics statistics, and let’s not even get into its sloppy handling of the satire matrix. They kept sacrificing cock after cock to Asclepius but it had absolutely no effect! Today’s non-handwashers are tomorrow’s CEOs. I don’t think any musician will ever, intentionally or inadvertently, write a more perfectly ridiculous line than “Touch my bum; this is life” (Cheeky Girls, “Cheeky Song,” 2002). Now, I consider myself to be a pretty liberal parent, but one thing all nine of my children know is that the den is Daddy’s space! But, men of Athens, was there not a time when WTF stood for World Trade Federation and LOL stood for Load Of Laundry? Bernard the beaver goes berserk. Or: Who Wants to Be a Millipede? At the end the winner gets eaten by a meerkat. I watched in awe as a neighbour defrosted her car’s windshield with a tea kettle full of hot water. I tried to calm myself down and forgive myself for being unequal to the task of managing my frustrations. But could any of those ancient writers even get published today? Zeus and I have had our disagreements, but one thing we’ve always agreed about is that irony is the cat’s meow. I think Canada and France should get married, because Canada’s national animal is the beaver and France’s is the cock, so it makes sense. As I understand it, God has a lot of major projects and important shit going on. I drive 200 miles per second through playground zones in the afternoon. Like most giants, he always became especially pensive at twilight. Everyone hates clip shows and everyone knows they aren’t funny.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Anneke permalink
    October 28, 2009 8:28 pm

    This reminds me of the internet poem “apostropheengine.” You should check that out. Also I was surprised to learn that you are not a religious man. We may have to discuss that.

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