The Letter G Insults My Intelligence

This post is brought to you by the letter G.

Aren’t you glad I didn’t go with the Gatorade sponsorship?

As you can probably guess, it’s a G-rated post… except for those pesky mentions of G-strings and G-spots.

That’s because G isn’t in our nature. Gold is Au and the absence of gold from this post might explain the absence of G-strings and G-spots. There’s gallium and germanium, but those are Ga and Ge.

I suppose I could count G-proteins as “nature” but those weigh less than 1 g and they probably don’t have the gravity to count for much. In other words, they lack sufficient g-force.

Am I boring you yet? If so, that’s not entirely my fault. You see, these nice people wanted to see some inspiration. And I want to inspire you.

I want to see you simply smitten with love. I want to see you put that pillow on your boyfriend’s face until he screams.

Let it be a G note. Maybe G sharp. His voice has to cut through those feathers…

I never said I was trying to imitate Sesame Street.  Play safe and have a nice day.

Day Insults My Intelligence

Don’t you hate the masses of tourists that clog all the sites and turn your nice peaceful vacation into a noisy game of human bumper cars?

Me too.

That’s why I would go out at night.  When I did, I could find things like this:

London’s Big Ben shines at night.

No tourists and no traffic.  Just me and the view and the muggers and the rapists and the murders who I luckily managed to avoid.  That’s quite a contrast.

Does Freshly Pressed Still Insult My Intelligence?

As most of you already know, Cats Insult My Intelligence was selected for Freshly Pressed on Friday.  I’ve been blogging here for over a year and I’ve heard the moans and wails of downtrodden bloggers desperately wanting to be featured there.  I’ve seen a “Never Been Freshly Pressed” club spring up among those whose lives had been destroyed by not being picked.  I’ve seen lots of people claim that their posts outshine the ones that were selected.

Unlike me, a lot of those people are full of crap.

I’ve seen bloggers dream of being picked because they believe it will launch their blog to new heights.  And then I’ve seen people become clinically depressed when the jump in visitor stats proves to be short-lived.  And then they take their ball and go home and complain to mommy that the mean people are being big bad meanies.

But what is the experience like?  It’s overrated in some respects but beneficial in others.  Let me explain:

1- If you had put all of my  blog posts in front of me and asked me which one would land on Freshly Pressed, I probably would have guessed correctly.  However, I wouldn’t have based that choice on post quality.  The cat post was cute and fun and, of all my posts, clearly the one that would most likely appeal to a broad audience. Kind of like Garfield.  Garfield’s no Dostoyevsky but people line up to read Garfield.

And have you ever heard of someone wanting a Dostoyevsky birthday cake?  (I think that sounds kind of cool, actually.)

I predicted last summer that I would never be chosen for Freshly Pressed because my usual brand of intellectually-infused humor has never struck me as suitable for McDonald’s-like mass consumption.  However, as it turns out, cats were perfect for McDonald’s.

2- My spike in stats did not break a record for daily views.  It probably didn’t break into the top three.  Here’s what my daily views look like for the past month or so:

Don’t be an idiot.  My date of freshly pressing is in orange and the current day is so low because I took the screenshot before 9 AM.  Premature conclusions are unnecessary.

Spike?  Yes, and sustained over a couple of days.  But it’s nothing earth-shattering.  I get more spikes around here than a teenager who loves his hair gel.  You can tell this more clearly by looking at my weekly stats:

Again, the current week is so low because this screenshot was taken on Tuesday morning. And yes I know that the numbers on the graph are missing. I did that on purpose because I like to be obnoxious.

So what do we conclude from this?  Not much.  I just like math.

Anyway…

3- It’s too early to know whether the stats boost will fall off.  As you can see from those graphs, my stats haven’t been significantly higher than normal.  However, I seem to have gained more than 100 followers as a direct result of being Freshly Pressed.  A sustained increase in traffic, if only a small one, is therefore expected.

However, I may consider feeling guilty for a while because I can’t check out the blogs of my 100+ new followers so quickly…

4- The Freshly Pressed badge is nice.  It’s a perfect aesthetic match for my blog.  Also, since virtually no blogging awards exist that aren’t determined by popular vote, it’s as close to an official certification of quality as I can get.

Even if the Freshly Pressed posts aren’t always wonderful…

5- I’m glad my blog wasn’t Freshly Pressed when it was young.  New followers will bring fresh perspectives to the discussions around here, but my old followers are still the definite majority.  That means I’m not tempted to change.  As my long-time followers already know, I write this blog for me.  The content can swing wildly at times and I’m sure most of my readers have been less than happy with the opinions they’ve encountered here at one point or another.

What do you expect from a blog about “things that insult my intelligence?”

I don’t worry when I lose a couple of followers after a particularly controversial post.  And despite my brief travels into mass distribution, this blog remains a small independent undertaking.

The Neverending Barrage Insults My Intelligence

I fear headaches. (Photo Credit: Ashley Rose)

You just need to watch more TV because normal people love TV and you’ll love it eventually if I just keep talking about it and talking about it and talking about it even though I know you don’t care and then you should go out to a bar or two or three or fifteen because the only legitimate way to meet women is at a bar (because only the good women like to drink and drink and drink and drink) or at a steroid enhanced sports event or at all of those places you claim not to enjoy but you will enjoy them because I’ll make sure you do because I know what’s best for you because I have the wisdom because I live in front of the television and I go to church every Sunday, which in turn is something you ought to do because it’s good for the soul and because everybody does it and because the Bible says so and because it’s fun and I don’t want you to experience eternal damnation with the prostitutes and the murderers and the thieves and the intellectuals and the Kardashians and glory be to Jesus and glory be to Jesus again because you really can’t give Him too much glory, especially after you’ve joined me at the latest action movie with lots of sex and severed limbs and more dead bodies than a mortician sees in a lifetime plus blood spurting and spraying and flowing from the bodies across the floor, amassing into a puddle until the red liquidy goodness overflows the room and surges as a river like the Blood of Christ, which is what you ought to be thinking of in that movie theater because He is everywhere and you must do everything according to Christian beliefs and popular culture because that’s the only way you can be likeable and there’s absolutely positively no contradiction whatsoever between religion and everything I want you to do for the rest of the week and if you listen to me you can be saved both in this life and in the next and my selling of television and movies DOES NOT sound like the way I sell church and I can’t understand why you you would accuse me of trying to “sell” either one because they’re both wonderful and I don’t have to sell them and it’s completely unfounded to say that I don’t know when to take no for an answer because I do listen and I do stop talking and I do take your preferences into consideration and I am not being judgmental and I want you to be yourself and I want you to decide for yourself and I don’t want to force you into anything you’ll hate and I want you to come here and watch season six of Survivor with me but first let me give you the complete rundown on the first five seasons and then we can go to church and you will have so much fun…

Trivial Pursuit Insults My Intelligence

I’d like to start by welcoming all the new followers who have joined me since I was Freshly Pressed on Friday.  The cat post was cute and fun and the WordPress editorial staff demonstrated excellent taste by selecting it.

Of course, I think most (if not all) of my posts would be good choices for Freshly Pressed.  I hope my new followers will soon grow to agree with me.

Nevertheless, I should extend one minor warning: this blog is not always cute.  One of my long-time followers recently marveled at how I can find a way to be offended at anything; I do my best to keep my fans happy.

That said, it’s time for me to go nerdy because I happen to be a nerd.  And being a nerd, I am often accosted by a game called Trivial Pursuit.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it’s a trivia game where players recall random and often insignificant facts in a race to demonstrate who’s more intelligent.

And whose brilliant idea was this?

Once upon a time, Ugg and Oog were sitting in their cave.  They had grown weary of explaining the philosophy behind the aesthetic dimensions of mammoth dung.

Yes, that’s supposed to be a mammoth.  Aren’t you glad I chose this suggestive picture instead of the photo of real elephant poop? (Photo credit: Johnbod)

But then, as now, someone had to be the leader.  Unfortunately, Ugg and Oog weren’t the type who liked hitting each other with blunt objects to prove their manhood… so the obvious solution was out.  And they couldn’t compete on the quality of dung explanations because there was no way to judge the comparative merits of their theories.

What are a couple of cavenerds to do?

Simple.  They decided to quiz each other on the specific contents of mammoth dung, focusing on what plant and animal remnants could be found during each month of the year.  Their answers could be objectively correct or incorrect and they could verify questionable responses by waiting for the appropriate month and finding a not-so-constipated mammoth.

Of course, this extended their playing time by several years. Since the winner could lay claim to being called the most intelligent, they considered the wait worthwhile.

And this tradition continues to this day.  Groups of people spend an eternity rummaging through a mammoth pile of dung just to prove to others how “smart” they are.  It’s such a trivial pursuit.

Blogger’s note: I do own a version of the game and I play it on rare occasion.   If I’m lucky, I get to play on a team with someone who knows about Justin Bieber and all that intelligent stuff.

 

Leaves Insult My Intelligence

I had a dream.  I was walking around in Innsbruck, Austria and I discovered a crystal blue river.  I followed that river because it provided a most excellent view of the town on the other side:

It’s almost such a beautiful scene.

However, as you can see from this picture, there was a problem.  Nature was interfering by getting between me and nature.

That’s not a misprint.  Nature got in the way of nature in my dream.  I suppose that means those leaves must have a compelling psychological significance.

If you read this blog regularly, you already know that I’m not into deeper contemplations that might bring about inspiration or anything like that.  So the interpretation of my dream is very simple… and I’m sure you’ll let me know what it is once you figure it out.

Cats Insult My Intelligence

I’m going to get in so much trouble for this, but here it goes anyway.

To the tune of “You Can Call Me Al” by Paul Simon:

A man walks down the street
He says, Why am I soft in the middle now?
Why am I soft in the middle?
Defendin’ my home is so hard.
I need a guard cat with sharpened claws.
I want a shot at some safety.
Don’t want to end up a young guy
In an young guy graveyard.
Cute felines, cute felines,
Cats in the moonlight
Come upon my well-lit door.
Abyssinian, ‘ssinian
Get this cat in here with me
You know I don’t find this crime
Amusing anymore.

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

A man walks to the fridge
He says, Why am I short of some chicken?
Cat wants a little can of some chicken
And now my nights are so long.
Where’s my fish and milk carton?
What if she starves here?
Who’ll be my protector
Soon as my protector is
Gone, gone?
She’ll duck back down the alley
With some roly-poly little bobtail guy.
All along, along
There were incidents and accidents.
There were hints and allegations.

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

A man sits on his couch
In his house on a bad road.
Maybe it’s a bur-guh-lar.
Maybe it’s the cat’s first defense.
She doesn’t care to engage,
No cares in the world.
She is a lazy cat.
She is surrounded by the spoils, the spoils:
Burgers from the marketplace
Litter box and lots of cool toys.
She looks around, around.
She sees gunfire in the living room now.
Purring in infinity
She says, “Hey man, now bring me tuna!”

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

Newfound Medications Insult My Intelligence

Once upon a time I was suffering from dry skin.

I couldn’t find a dry skin picture that wouldn’t make you vomit. Therefore, I chose this turkey with equally crispy skin.  (Photo credit: Leslie Johnston)

So I went to the pharmacy and was greeted with this:

The pharmacy provides easy access to nutritional essentials.  (Photo credit: Susan)

Farther inside the pharmacy, I saw lots of nifty pills.

Who says bright colors are only for children?  (Photo credit: ParentingPatch)

And then I discovered what I had intended to find.

It was perfect.

When I left home, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d be so lucky.  Who would have guessed?

I found moisturizer in a container that had been newly redesigned:

It takes an aesthetically superior bottle to tackle aesthetically inferior skin.

Thought Control Insults My Intelligence

Hello everyone.

Stories that Must Not Die published a lengthy guest post by me today.

By lengthy, I mean very lengthy.  It’s over 2000 words, making it longer than anything I’ve ever posted here.  The topic is graduate school (specifically for the Ph.D.) and is intended as a warning.

Click here to read the post.

 

Edward Snowden Insults My Intelligence

Russia seems to play a prominent role in current events these days.  We have their anti-gay policies, their annexation of Crimea and desire to take over all of the Ukraine, and their harboring of Edward Snowden.

Yes, this “hero” Snowden thought for some reason that certain other countries might be more admirable in their actions than the United States.  While I’ve expressed negative thoughts about the NSA actions he revealed, I don’t quite get why he didn’t contact someone on the Senate Intelligence Committee (for example) who, if I’m not mistaken, has a legitimate right to learn that information and the power to perhaps slow the abuses.

Have the abuses slowed?  I thought not.  And now he gets to see lots of worse stuff in Russia.

And so, inspired by Snowden’s naive belief that foreign countries act for the common good instead of in their own national interest, I would like to present a song.  You may recognize it as a parody of the Tears for Fears classic:

Welcome, Comrade Ed.
There’s no turning back.
Even while you sleep,
We will use you:
Acting on your information,
Glory be to Russian Nation!

Everybody wants to rule the world.

It’s our own design.
You’ll have your remorse.
You helped us decide,
Helped us take the most
of freedom and of treasure.
Ukraine could not last forever.

Everybody wants to rule the world.

There’s a room where the Feds won’t find you,
Full of mice ‘til the walls come crumbling down.
When they do, I won’t be behind you.

So glad we’ve almost made it.
So sad you can’t now trade it?
Everybody wants to rule the world.

I can’t stand your dear old country.
It is ruled by rabid monkey.
Everybody wants to rule the world.

Say that you’l never never never never mean it
when you say borscht is spleen! It
is not what we’ll use to rule the world.

The world’s freedom and its pleasure
Can no longer last forever.
With your help we will soon rule the world.

Feeding the Bears Insults My Intelligence

If you visit Bern, Switzerland, you’re likely to find a pit at the end of town that contains a few friendly-looking bears:

If I were one of these bears, I’d miss the little things like grass and trees.

However, Switzerland is a zoo… especially during tourist season.  And do you know what happens in a zoo?

Inappropriate feeding:

Here’s a closer look at the same image.  Notice the parent and child in the upper right.

As the sign often says, “Do not feed the bears.”  But if you must feed them, please remember that your kid is not appropriate for a bear’s dinner.  The bear may enjoy him, but you’re inviting a lot of trouble on yourself.

The quiet ain’t worth it.

Vandalism Insults My Intelligence

Politicians have been desecrating public property for years and no one has stepped in to stop them.

You don’t believe me?

I walked out to my mailbox today.   Its sturdy black pole rises from the grass-covered dirt as its arched box reaches towards the street. With its single red ear, it reminds one of Vincent Van Gogh, though I doubt that he would have looked as spiffy wearing those metallic number stickers.

It waits to be fed.

Give me a break.  An anonymous blogger isn’t going to use his real mailbox.  Therefore, you get to see an icy receptacle and a wooden pole.  (Photo credit for uncropped version: Joy Schoenberger)

Even though my lovely specimen was purchased with private funds, the interior space has government (i.e. public) ownership.

And as I opened my own shiny piece of government property, I discovered vandalism.  I discovered grinning idiots on glossy brochures that try to scare voters into believing that other candidates would destroy the state, the country, and the sanctity of all “we” hold dear. Of course, there’s also the compulsory American flag waving proudly in all that hot air.

Those brochures had destroyed the monochromatic calm that had reigned inside my mailbox; neither they nor their distributors belong anywhere near public property.

Of course, the Capitol is public property too…