Ice Insults My Intelligence

Yesterday I tried a bland, boring advertisement for my new blog.  (Click here to visit.)  The new blog showcases a side of myself you don’t often see on Bumblepuppies… namely the hardcore academic side.  Around here, you get the humor end of business and that’s probably what you’d hope for from the ever popular gratuitous advertisement from me.

So, I’m trying again.  This time, I’m taking a page from the future and from the past.

My new blog, The Blacklight Candelabra, will offer writing challenges and I’m composing this post in response to a writing challenge.   Since you can only hide a brain inside a zombie’s mouth (and I choose not to do that), you might call that my professional side to some extent.

But then again, I was Freshly Pressed this year for writing a musical parody.  This is closer to the person my oldest friends would recognize and it’s the person my regular readers are most familiar with.  I suppose it’s also what makes my arrogance endearing to everyone I meet.

With that in mind, I offer you a breathtaking musical rendition of quality marketing material for my new blog.

To the tune of:

Yo, Bumblepups, let’s kick it!

Blacklight baby
Blacklight baby
All right dogs
The candelabra’s up now
Pups is back with a gift for your diction
Ideas grab a hold of you weekly
Shoot like a harpoon quick and meekly
Will it ever stop?
Yo, I don’t know
Turn off the lights and I’ll glow
To the extreme I’ll rock your blog like a vandal
Light up the cage and free your brain, it’s no scandal.
Light up the candle and glow
I’m feedin’ your brain like philosopher Rousseau.
Deadly, when I write a cruel challenge ’cause
Anything fluffy and light does not move paws.
Love it or leave it
You better gain brains
You better hit bull’s eye
The pups don’t play
If there was a problem
Yo, I’ll solve it
Check out the blog while my big brain evolves it

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Now that the zombies are jumping
With the new year in and the brain cells are pumpin’
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
I’m saving them brains like a golden kraken
Saving them if they’re so quick and nimble
I go crazy when I see you’re dismal.
And the bloggers with a souped up tempo
They’re on a roll and it’s time to plead nolo.
Buildin’ up your 4.0
With my kitchen here so your brains can grow
The zombies on standby
Waving just to say hi
Did they stop?
No, they all passed by
Kept on pursuing to another space
They busted a left and they’re heading to the next blog
That blog is dead.

Yo so I continued to Candel… hey! Blacklight Ave
Brains were smart answering all my topics
Zombies expelled, visiting the tropics,
Jealous ’cause I got all the brains
Play with a rage and attention is all mine
Ready for the pings on the back
The pings are acting swell because they’re full of great acts
Blog posts rang out like a bell
I grabbed all nine
The information gels.
Hopin’ for the pingbacks real fast
Logged in again, was not aghast
Topic to topic, the blog will be packed
I’m tryin’ to bring some friends before zombies attack
Zombies on the scene?
You know what I mean…
They’ll pass us up, and mesmerize all the dope fiends.
If there was a Zombie
Yo, I’ll kill it
Check out the blog while my big brain distills it

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Take heed, ’cause I’m a lyrical poet
The puppy’s on the scene just in case you didn’t know it
My blog, that disposed of all the brain fog
Enough to shake and kick holes in a dog
‘Cause my blog is like a chemical spill
Feasible thoughts that you can vision and feel
Conducted and formed
This is a hell of a concept
We make it hype and you want to step with this
We play through the days, slice the zombie, hell oh yeah!
Cut like a razor blade so fast
Other bloggers say, “damn”
If my blog was a drug
I’d sell it by the gram
Keep my composure when it’s time to get loose
Magnetized as I write while I kick my juice
If there was a Zombie
Yo, I’ll kill it!
Check out the blog while my big brain does fill it.

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Yo man, let’s get over there.
Word from your teacher.

Blacklight baby
Too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool


The Blacklight Candelabra: Protecting Your Brains from Zombies in the Coming Year

Orgies Insult My Intelligence

Because today is Monday, it’s time for some twisted fun.  And when it comes to twisted fun, no one beats the ancient Greeks.  They had orgies.

(Photo Credit: Shakko)

(The ancient Greeks remain famous for their parties.  Photo Credit: Shakko)

So what if these orgies were religious rites?  There’s not much difference between those and today’s celebrations. 

Need proof?

The ancient Greeks believed that ambrosia was the food of the gods.  It was like candy to them. Modern orgies haven’t changed much except Candy is a she, not an it. Cries to at least one god also permeate the modern orgy atmosphere.

The ancient Greeks rode asses.  I think no further explanation is necessary on this point.

Orgies did not happen on Mondays in ancient Greece because Monday had not been invented yet.  Orgies do not happen on Mondays in modern times because fraternities and sororities expect their members to wear at least a toga at all times.  Businesses, on the other hand, prefer to keep employee ethics at a permanently high level because they love moral philosophy; therefore, no orgies on weekdays.

People who were excluded from either form of orgy might literally or figuratively be found singing the blues.  Those who weren’t excluded might find themselves nursing bruises that are a lovely shade of blue.

And here’s something else you can sing if you like.  It was the inspiration for this post:

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.”

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.

Peace Insults My Intelligence

Suffering builds character.

While everyone was busy ducking and covering in the 1980’s and marveling over the guy who “did not have sexual relations with that woman” in the 1990’s, too much happiness and cheer were going on.  And then people get all nostalgic about all that “wonderful” 80’s music or 90’s music just because it was playing during all those important childhood moments.

Get over it.

Long-time followers of this blog already know how I feel about the American music industry.  They feed us domestic crap and then they import the smelliest crap (sans flies) from overseas.

And so we get Falco and Ace of Base and nothing truly worthwhile.

Do you know what’s worthwhile?


Yes, pain.  And transforming those songs into a more explicit version of the pain that they have caused so many people.

So let’s go back to Falco and the dirty little hit job he did on Mozart.  How did that song make you feel?  Perhaps warm and fuzzy like these guys?

Those of us who always hated Falco’s music have become superior moral beings because we had to suffer through it.  Umbra Et Imago’s improved version would help the more mainstream idiots grow in character.

It’s amazing what those melodic low notes can do for a song and for a few blubbering fools.

And then there’s Ace of Base.  I will not bore you with any description because I’m sure that the band has bored you enough already.   However, I will provide you with a lovelier version of an Ace of Base song so that you might truly understand what it means to be an ace:

And once you become wise like me, you will find that the heavy discordant notes now sound normal and you’ll need something different to prevent yourself from becoming a mindless zombie follower of your new musical love.

This is why God invented duets.

Just find the best approximation of your favorite Brazilian death metal band and dummy up the most unlikely musical partner for them…

Now that’s a song that would have been worth losing your virginity to all those years ago.

“Normal” Music Insults My Intelligence

I’ve noticed quite a few bloggers around here participating in a “25 Days of Songs” challenge.  It looked interesting but it seemed rather idiotic to dedicate 25 posts to a single topic… especially since I only write 3-4 posts per week.

Fortunately, I now have an excuse to do all 25 days in a single post.    And fortunately for you, I do not intend to be completely truthful here.  I think we should have some fun with this, don’t you?

And besides, I’ve been meaning to showcase a bunch of (mostly) arcane music you’ve never heard of.  A few titles are well-known but a couple of them experienced much-deserved deaths.  Hopefully violent ones.

1- A song from my childhood

Ummm… did my childhood ever end?  I guess it must have ended because I didn’t choose to embed the official video that includes a bunch of snakes eating a guy’s flesh in super-graphic detail.  Sounds like a cheerful childhood, huh?  Anyway, this is track one on the first non-English-language CD I ever bought.

2- A song that reminds me of my most recent ex-girlfriend

Just because it would piss her off if she knew I’m the one writing this, here’s a little gem from Russia:

3- A song that reminds me of one or both of my parents:

Dad never skimped on the Jewish humor with his officially non-Jewish children.  (People who discriminate against Jews classify me as Jewish… and that makes for an especially fun job search. )  Anyway, humor:

4- A song that calms me down.

Because I love the NSA and feel most calm when I am under constant surveillance, I have to go with this largely forgotten classic:

5- A song that is often stuck in my head

A Belgian girls’ choir singing Rammstein?  Absolutely!  How could you possibly get that off your mind?

Continue reading

Caveman Dentistry Insults My Intelligence

Barely illuminated by a smoldering fire, a large cave sheltered the exploits of Dr. Orin, the man generally recognized as the father of dental phonetics. His reputation is still unmatched and his life story has even been adapted to a modern setting:

But back to the real history.  Dressed in the prehistoric equivalent of a toga, he surveyed his office with great pride. The cave walls abounded with the standard pictures of wildlife, cheaply drawn and scattered liberally above the uncomfortable rocks people sat in as they awaited the dentist. The rocks were made of galena and they sliced into people’s butts. Orin saw no need to trouble himself with supplying furniture made from more comfortable stones because he didn’t want people arriving early and sharing their worries with one another. Business ran more smoothly when people remained in the dark.

Therefore, the tiny fire. It prevented people from seeing the far side of the cave where Orin worked on his patients. Sure, the echoes carried but no one could ever know for sure whether Orin or the everpresent cockroachasaurs were terrifying the patients.

And so one day Mr. Ugg arrived at his appointed time to get a few teeth pulled. Orin called him to the back and let him lie on the giant slab that functioned as a dentist’s chair. After exchanging pleasantries, Orin told Ugg to say ahhh.

Unfortunately for Ugg, Orin didn’t wait for him to say anything. Instead, Orin immediately smashed Ugg’s mouth with his caveman club.

“Ahhh!!!” said Ugg.

Since then, doctors have told patients to say “ahhh” as a way of disguising the subsequent shrieks of anguish.

Blogger’s note: This post was written in response to kokkieh’s Song Title Challenge.  However, I’m the one who recommended the song title and literary genre.  So… to avoid accusations of cheating, this post also functions as a response to the Weekly Writing Challenge.  It had not yet been released when I made my suggestions to Mr. Kok.  (Incidentally, the song title was “Ahhh!!!,” not “I am the Dentist.”)

Coherence Insults My Intelligence


Time travel you say?   Who wants to revisit the bubonic plague, trench warfare, or the Gulags?  No one, of course.  If you’re going to make time travel sexy, you have to offer sexy destinations like Shakespeare’s England or postclassical Mayan civilization.  Unfortunately, relatively few people can fit in the Globe theater or Chichen Itza.  You’ll find too many time tourists and that can ruin your experience there.  Besides, neither of those high periods had particularly good medicine, so you’re likely to catch something small yet fatal among all those visitors.

So let’s do an off-the-beaten path destination: mid-1910’s Europe.  If you didn’t sleep through your history lessons, you may remember trench warfare being all the rage at that time.  However, this blog doesn’t concern itself much with holding to the latest fashions from today or yesteryear, so we won’t focus on the glamor of war.

Instead, we’re visiting that period to learn about Dada so we can bring back some rhetorical insights for today’s world.  Just imagine the possible applications…

Let’s start with political debates:

Hillary Clinton: jar recede squash vermillion ratatouille flan go waft swan carcinogen hoopla.

Joe Biden: No!  hark pert persimmon quid pro quo kung fu, suture pantaloon.

Hillary Clinton: Fanta zamboni, ham circadian!

Wouldn’t that be more informative than what we typically get?

And then just try to imagine the improvements Microsoft could make to the instructions for its operating systems:

Windows 8.0 halalas blagh cortoros, monog gonog fogog.  Halooka sa yau twagala ra, massootookulu vam.  Horsala maklava zo yeash ta eaglet wampus system error.

I bet you understood more of that than the typical technical instructions.

By now, you’re probably objecting to this post; after all, Dada was an art form and I’ve been suggesting its use for more practical applications.  So let’s get artistic, and I don’t mean this gem from over thirty years ago:

The Talking Heads are dead for all intents and purposes, so we need a contemporary artist who captures today’s soul to join our time travels so that he may recapture the lost magic of Dada.  I suggest Justin Bieber… loaded up on Xanax, of course.  Imagine his next song once we return from the past:

Shi huanga blanga boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs

Yeah, he’s gonna party like it’s 1918 but with lyrics that will stimulate the public’s intellects more than his existing offerings.    And after that success, he’ll be crying “let’s do the time warp again” before you know it… at which point we should just lock him up in a Transylvanian castle without a video camera.

Negativity Insults My Intelligence

I’d like to take a moment to express my undying love for my readers and for everyone out there who does not read this blog.  I love all of you and I love the kittens and the salamanders and the entire animal kingdom.  Of course, I love trees and I love knees and I love fees.  Yes, I love fees.  I love parking fees and I love shipping fees and I love processing fees and I love mystery fees that show up on my lovely receipts when I go shopping at stores, all of which I love too.  Even Wal-Mart.

I started this blog to bring more positivity into the world because everything in the world is beautiful.  And everyone is good.  We must have our human interest stories and our constant praise of everything and everyone so as not to shatter anyone’s artificially inflated ego.  When responding to things other people have done, I always remain mindful of this psychological feather cloud.  Everyone deserves to be told how perfect they are, constantly and consistently, and they deserve to hear those words expressed honestly every time.

Love must happen 24 hours a day, every day, until we gloriously ascend beyond this life.  We must make sure this happens.  We must actively eliminate all those who practice constructive criticism and anything else that makes people feel bad.  No criticism is constructive, but I love the criticizers anyway.  We should reeducate them so that they may become better adapted to society’s needs.

I intend for love to blossom here every time I post something new.  Love inspired my initial forays into writing and it continues to do so. My heart rejoiced at the opportunity to convert the masses to the ways of love and I overflow with delight every time I imagine someone’s life becoming more beautiful because of my writing.

As a token of these warm feelings, I wish to share a joyous song that will fill your heart with happiness and nostalgia, reminding you how writing elevates the soul.  Please be sure to reflect on the song’s deeper meaning so that you may be fully uplifted.


Youth Insults My Intelligence

I haven’t grown a day older in the past ten years and I mean that half seriously.

Once upon a time this puppy was a younger puppy.  Then, like now, I wasn’t into “popular” books or movies and I was anything but an athlete.  But I looked young and probably acted justifiably immature on occasion which was a lot of fun.  There was only one downside: I was a whole lot more grown-up on the inside than I was on the outside and people would want the person they saw on the outside.

That’s still true.  I’m still as sophisticated as I ever was, and admirably so.  However, my physical appearance is starting to match who I am… which is a great development when people generously take the time to notice that I’m not the same person they knew me as fifteen years ago.

You’d be amazed at how many young people live in the past.

And so I am not going to snicker at four-letter words or boobies these days.  I’ve seen a lot of them and, while they still have their uses, I prefer to enjoy them a different way now.  And that’s because I’ve become more cultured.  You can discern my intellectual standing from the folks who regularly read and comment on this blog.

With two exceptions, you people tend to be at least fifteen years older than me.

For that reason, I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude for helping me feel less chronologically advanced.  No matter how long we’re all together, I’ll always be “the young one.”  And your continued presence will lend an air of truth to my claims of preternatural cultivation.

Nevertheless, I still enjoy the occasional youthful endeavor but my method of partaking continues to grow more classic.  So as not to offend the ears of the more lengthy in existence among you, I have decided to close this post by demonstrating my youthful-yet-mature excellence by linking to a music video.

(Warning: the lyrics are not suitable for most workplaces.)

Dancing Insults My Intelligence

Once upon a time many years ago I got myself elected to my high school’s student council.  Part of the job involved planning the homecoming dance… which fascinated me even more than a roadkill barbecue; I had never been to one and wanted to learn what all the commotion was about.

You see, I attended Catholic school and the dress code pretty much nixed any reason an adolescent male like myself would want to attend.  I’m sure the fluffy dresses billowed in the voluminous hot air spewed by disgruntled dates while the music probably surpassed the lovely rehashes “Dancing with the Stars” forces on its audiences.  One day, I’ll write a post about that show because I’ve been forced to sit through it, but by now the good punchlines have surely been taken.

On the other hand, how could the world ever run out of punchlines about that show?

But I digress.  There are better places to hold a girl and sway than a semi-air-conditioned gym filled with overpaid photographers and poorly made decorations.  Yeah… the decorations were bad.  The student council had to make them and none of us had any art skills.  Plus, some of us were a tad lazy.  The moon I cut out from posterboard was almost roundish and I’m sure it helped lots of romance blossom.  I could have produced a perfectly shaped moon but I was never the type to gratuitously drop my pants.

I apologize for the negative tone this post has taken thus far and I’m sure my dance-loving readers would like some inspiration as well.  For that reason, I’d like to offer a beautiful musical exhortation to get moving.  This song is my warmest memory of anything involving dance:

Russian Teddy Bears Insult My Intelligence

Ever since the Olympic opening ceremony, people have been complaining about how the mascot looks drunk, how it gives children nightmares, how it destroys the Olympics’ intended spirit.

Here’s the cute little perpetrator:

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via   It has been cropped from its original version.

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via %282014-02-07%29_01.jpeg (It has been cropped from its original version.)

I’m sorry, but this fellow doesn’t seem like a worthy opponent for Godzilla, or even for a three-year-old boy.  In fact, he kind of looks like a more adorable version of Dick Cheney… which means we should expect a couple of heart attacks if the bear continues getting all that exercise.

Heart attacks don’t scare children, especially if the victim is furry and cartoonish.

That ain’t right.  The Olympics deserve a mascot who can inspire the masses to emulate the athletes, namely in that they end up moving very very quickly.    And I will skip over the tired old jokes about Russia… you know, the ones that lampoon how everything in Russia seems drunk and belligerent.

I prefer not to pursue such cheap humor on this blog.

Instead, I would like to introduce a more suitable animal who should have been chosen as mascot.  Meet Dvar the bumblebee, a veritable VIP in Russian cultural circles and connoisseur of warm weather.

This image was slightly modified from the original on "Oramah Maalhur."  The bee is unchanged.

This image was slightly modified from the original on “Oramah Maalhur.” The bee is unchanged.

Oh, and he sings too… this entity so great that he was once rumored to be a creation of the almighty terrorizer of children, Michael Jackson.

He reveals himself in dreams to the anonymous band that adopted his name and they distribute his musical revelations to the world.  What better symbol could have emerged for an event named after the residence of ancient gods?  And the singing even sounds like it came from a children’s show.

All hail Dvar!