Thursday, February 18, 2010

If I was in the Black eyed Peas I'm not sure if I'd be one of the black ones or one of the horse faced white girls. I guess I don't have to decide, today.

If I ever saw Roger Ebert walking down the street toward him I would shoot him dead in the head without a second thought and there's not a jury in the world that would convict me, either.

I typically don't carry a gun to shoot people but I can imagine that on a day like that, serindipity would have made me somehow get a gun and make sure it was loaded and shoot and kill Roger Ebert.

I picture him shuffle-step-slork walking up to me all the time, his tracheotomy (tricky spell spot behind us) is peeping and slurping and flecks of spit (sputum) are flying out and you just know he's trying to say Brains or something like that.

You picture him shuffling up to Omaha to find me -- shuffle up to Omaha, his Jaw left somewhere behind in Chicago and he's come for mine and I don't even pause, I swing the gun up and shoot and he dies and not a jury would convict me.

I picture a terrific death of his, feet fly out from under, arms flail and there he falls and the sun comes out and the people look out their windows and they come out to see what I've done and relief fills their eyes and their eyes fill with tears and the sun comes out and I'll tell you it's very un-sunny in Omaha this long winter.

And not a jury would convict me.

Even his good old friend Siskel (I didn't look up how his name is really spelled.  Take that PBS!) wouldn't condemn me.

Of course I'd apologize, it's not nice to kill, even a zombie.  Not if you don't have to, even if they're after your very perfect and fine jaw.  Even then it's a bit like killing.

And I would go to his family.

And I would go to the funeral and I'd hide behind one of those wall things that hang down that are supposed to look stylish but typically just collect dust.

They would certainly see me and call me out to speak and I would speak a word of apology and they would listen and then I would lead them in a round of Amazing Grace.

Until the wretch like me part as I don't know the words after that.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

wolfman was a bad movie. you'll probably love it because you love hairy naked men and bad cgi.

A lot of people used to rightly believe that one of the surest and slyest ways to kill a man was to be a ninja and to come up on him in the dark and it also has to be very cold or it won't work and you come up on him in the cold and dark and it's silent and JAM!  You slam his neck with a frozen icicle, at least a lot of people used to believe that was the case and sure I was one of them until I had a recent epiphany.


A lot of people regard me as one of the formost references on ninjas and how best to do killings and that makes sense because I've studied it.  Really I've done nothing else.  Study being a ninja, drink scotch and jack it night and day.  The order of the three things is really not important.


In late December I was struck with a notion that I think you'll want to hear because it's going to shock the world of best ways a ninja can kill someone in the cold and dark.


The idea that I've been doing nothing but refine over the past several weeks?


Frozen poop daggers.


So simple, right?




At first I thought, sure... I'll throw these in with the semencicles, let them freeze, test them out on my dogs or the passers by and publish it in all the journals.


Well, it may seem like an easy task to grab some poops out of the bowl, but it's harder than you'd think.  They bend over like tall towers.  That is when it isn't a mess of chopped up goo from the scotch (the most typical thing, I can assure you).


Then, once you freeze them on trays you have to act pretty fast before they lose the hard edge.  Stabbing someone with a mushy shit is not the idealest weapon from a ninja perspective.


Finally, the tips are rather dull.  I initially tried to sand them but that was a waste of sand paper as you couldn't get them sharp enough.  The frozen turds shot off into space in a form of turd dust which then settles on your clothes and in your nose until you take a bath, which is a rare enough event.


This was months of battling to make the perfect shit dagger.


Finally it struck me.


Mold the knife when the clay is warm!


It takes a bit of work to spin a foul clump of clay into a useable weapon but I think I have a batch in the freezer that just might do the trick.


I put them on wax paper.  I used to just lay them down in there but that was a failed mistake.


My new temptation is to dig a pit and use them as punjee sticks for the mailman.  He thinks he's so great.  You should see him scampering about and waving.  You would hate it and I would try to hold you back from attacking him.


Then when they found him they'd be all... where's the murder weapon!!??  Because it's melted.  It's by now just gobs of poops.