Tuesday, August 16, 2005

My Favorite Fable

My favorite fable is the one about the young man who goes backwards and forwards in time. The tale originated right here in America, and has been passed down from generation to generation at least twice. The story begins, as so many do, with a friendship. This friendship is between the young man and a strange old professor of science with wild white hair. The young man has a beautiful girlfriend and two loving parents, but he can't help wondering what it would be like to go back in time. The strange old professor, whose house is full of clocks, calls the young man to his side one day and tells him that he has invented a vehicle which can transport you to any time you wish, in the past or the future. Much merriment ensues and a few lessons are learned. It's a beautiful old folk tale and it can be yours for only 19.99 on DVD. There is also a Danish version of this fable where the young man character dies at the end, impaled on his own sword.

Monday, August 15, 2005

I Don’t Know How to Use Microsoft Excel

There I said it. And I’m going to take it off my resume, too. Because ever since I put it on there people have been up in my grill about making spreadsheets. And I don’t know how. You know why? Because I forgot. And you know else why? Because I would rather eat a plank then make a spreadsheet. Especially in some antiseptically cold office where you have to use a little swipey card to get in and out of the glass doors. Thanks but no thanks. The other day my mom told me I didn’t have the strongest work ethic she’d ever seen, and that when it came to marketable skills, I wasn’t exactly scalping the competition. At the time, I became very indignant and almost splashed the juice I was drinking. But I have to say, where Excel is concerned, her assessment has the distinct aroma of truth. Microsoft Word, however, is a whole other story. Me and Microsoft Word are like two creepily intense ballroom dance partners. We’ve got the moves. And everything I write is an elegant foxtrot of word processing. When I tried to explain this to my mom, she didn’t seem that psyched about it. Don’t ask me why. I guess, once again, the old proverb proves true: sometimes parents just don’t understand.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

A Pilot's Life

Life looks pretty small from up here. As another country falls away beneath the clouds, I make a few adjustments on the dashboard and whoopee! Off we go again. Flying. Like a goddam Canada goose. But huge. Up here, who's your daddy? Me. That's who. Anyone want some peanuts? We got a shitload. But don't ask me. Ask one of the flight attendants. That's what they're there for. That and a blow-job once in a while at 38,000 feet. No one says no to a pilot. It's too scary. Think about what I might do if I got a bee in my bonnet. Brenda! Put a couple a those peanuts in your bra so they look like nipples. That's hilarious. Pilot. That's me. I'm a pilot. Don't tell me to keep my eyes on the sky. It's the sky, for god sake. It's huge. We're not gonna crash into anything. What are we gonna crash into, a cloud? Oh big deal. Just relax, Brenda. Get me one of those vegetarian meals. No, I don't want to eat it--I want to rub my dick in it. Sanitary?? Of course it's not sanitary--I'm trying to teach those vegetarian jerk-offs a little lesson. It's called eat meat. Don't be a homo. I love it. I love my life! Because my life ... is A PILOT'S LIFE.