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Saturday, May 25, 2013

I Want to Die at Exactly 5:00 PM

I think a lot about death.  Not always mine.  Others people’s deaths too.

Sometimes I think about how I would want others to die especially after they piss me off.  Don’t boo-hoo me. I know and you know we all think it. I’m just ballsy enough to put it in writing.

Usually I don’t think about causing much pain.  I just imagine I have this magic finger and I ever so slowly point at the offending asshole and zap! down they go. Dead. Wouldn’t that be terrific?

I’m sure there are people who would love to point a magic finger at me and see me gurgling my last breath. Hey, sometimes I feel the same way.

Now that I’ve confessed... if you piss me off and you see me slowly extending a finger your way you now know what I’m thinking and wishing... zap!

As for me I want to die at exactly 5:00 PM on my birthday.  5:00 PM is the exact time I dropped out of the love canal (according to my birth certificate) and made my grand entrance into this wacky wild world.  Wouldn’t 5:00 PM be the perfectly appropriate time to go back to where I came from? So profound... the exact moment you come is the exact moment you leave, though hopefully with years, many years, many many years between the coming and the leaving.

I imagine myself lying on my death bed with my arms outstretched in a lordly manner.  It’s 4:57 PM and all my loved ones are gathered around my bed tearfully telling me how much I changed their lives for the better while secretly checking their watches anticipating my last breath... and anxiously awaiting the reading of my will.

Then when 5:00 PM arrives on my birthday on the year I am destined to die I will bolt upright and with a cheshire grin say “Th... Th... That’s all folks!”

Maybe it’s because my birthday is fast approaching that I ponder aloud the 5:00 PM death desire.

Rest assured when my birthday arrives this coming week I have no intention of actually dying, though I do get a tad freaky when the clock ticks that particular hour on that particular day. 

I’m not ready yet for the pedestal in the sky, and this birthday when it’s 5:01 PM you will hear me exhale a huge sigh of relief knowing for certain that I have another year to share me and my wonderful witticisms with all of you. 



Thursday, May 23, 2013

Treadmill Desks and Internet Porn?

Keeping yourself physically active presumably keeps you healthy and in shape forcing the demons of age and the black grasp of death to stay at bay. 

But sometimes you’re so damn busy with your career and family obligations you have no time to trim the fat with exercise.  Your lifestyle doesn’t allow escaping to the gym, a quick jog, a sweat-inducing calorie-burning slutty lust-filled affair at the no tell motel, or taking a “weekend away” to the fat-reducing surgeon.

So what’s the solution? Treadmill desks.

The treadmill desk concept is you walk on the treadmill, at a walking speed of 1 to 2 miles per hour, while working at your raised desk.  If you’re at your desk 6 hours a day that’s close to 12 miles walking.  It’s multi-tasking from your brain to your toes.

I have a difficult enough time on the gym treadmill trying to walk and watch “The Wendy Williams Show.”  Sometimes her Hot Topics segments are so engrossing I miss a rhythm in my step and almost fall off the friggin’ thing.  A fall from the treadmill could really bruise my bum, and my ego.

How could I possibly type on the computer with complete concentration and chat on the phone with a business associate while my legs are in constant motion, and not sound like I’m having a self-induced moment of pleasure?   After treadmilling for a while I get a bit winded and my speaking voice sounds like heavy breathing. 

If you’re a phone sex operator then working at a treadmill desk might very well enhance the experience for your clients while keeping your butt fit and firm.

But what about solo-watching Internet porn while at your treadmill desk?  Wouldn’t that be a bit difficult when your hands are busy elsewhere and not helping keep your balance on the treadmill? Nothing would be more embarrassing than falling, passing out, and waking up in an embarrassing position when the paramedics arrive.

I’m sure treadmill desks with practice might prove beneficial, but instead of a treadmill desk I’m thinking a few less Oreos, no more KFC extra crispy breasts, no more peanut butter ice cream, and a nice new comfortable desk chair to fully enjoy Internet porn.

Thursday, May 02, 2013

Headless Man Walks Along the LA River

The other day I was riding my 21-speed bicycle along the Los Angeles River when I kept seeing a posting on poles and cement walls.  Curiosity got the best of me and I hit the brakes to see what it was. And this is what I saw:


The text read:

A headless man was documented walking on the LA River Bike Path near Atwater Village earlier this year. If you have any further documentation, information, or recognize anyone in the photograph below please contact the Department of Investigations at 213-688-3919.

At that very moment the sunny California sun took an ominous turn and cast a grey cloud over the river, and more specifically me. 


Eerie. 

Like an owl I turned my head every which way.  I felt the headless man was making his presence known to me. I didn’t see him, but I swear on the guillotine of life I felt his headless body wrapping his headless arms around me. 

Chills. 

My bike chain rattled. It wanted to be pedaled out of there asap.  I was too paralyzed to move.  

And then I heard a voice. A voice that seemed to be gurgling. A voice with barely a larynx to emit a sound. A voice from a severed throat.  The kind of voice you hear from someone who spent decades with a four-pack-a-day unfiltered cigarette smoking habit. 

And this is what the severed voice said to me:

Anastasia did it.  Find Anastasia and get me my head back. 

Then just as quickly as it happened the cloud evaporated and the sunny California sun shone bright blinding me with its rays of light. 

The headless man chose me for this important task.  It is now my personal mission to find Anastasia and recover the headless man’s head. 

It must be so frustrating for him not to have head, and having to walk aimlessly along the LA River. 

I have re-read all Agatha Christie, re-watched Inspector Clouseau, donned my Columbo raincoat, grabbed my Sherlock Holmes pipe, and am now ready to solve this mystery of the headless man.