Girl Scouts Insult My Intelligence

I’ve been struggling for the past several weeks.  You see, I came up with a better idea for my last post right after publishing it.  The problem is, my “better idea” will be even harder for people to stomach than “Dead Puppies Insult My Intelligence.”  In the interest of artistic freedom and general bad taste, I have decided to publish that other idea now.  If you are capable of being offended, please do not read any further.

Since these girls are no longer girls, I guess the image is safe to use here.  (For copyright information, go here.)

Since these girls are no longer girls, I guess the image is safe to use here. (For copyright information, go here.)

The following is a public service announcement from the writer of this blog.

If you or your loved ones happen to discover the flattened carcass of a girl scout lying on the road, please do not touch, eat, or otherwise disturb it.  God put roadkill on this earth so that the flies and vultures might prosper, for He loves the smallest and ugliest creatures on this earth as much as He adores the cute little girl scout.  The car that squished the girl scout is an instrument of His will.

God Bless Chrysler.

In keeping with the girl scout’s theological purpose, please wait for the county’s professional sanitation workers to properly dispose of her.  It is government’s proper role to serve as God’s right hand and clean up the mess He occasionally makes, no matter the odor you must endure while waiting, no matter how many children start weeping upon seeing the dead girl scout, no matter whether the girl scout would have consented to being part of this spiritually bureaucratic undertaking.

And while you wait, please be so kind as to remove the girl scout’s poo from the sidewalk.  It is unpleasant to look at.

Moral of the story: Most shocking blog posts can be made even more cringe-inducing by replacing the main character with a girl scout.

Bad Writing Suggestions Insult My Intelligence

I have nothing interesting to say today.  Call it writer’s block if you like.

Of course, people often say that the best way to overcome writer’s block is to sit down and look for inspiration from whatever words manage to come out of you.

Okay, I’ll try it.  Here’s the random smattering of ideas that are running through my head:

Sleep is fun.

Pollen is not fun.  Achoo.

That’s a very nice stapler sitting over there.  I forgot I had it.

I believe that worms have a right to dig holes in the lawn until a chicken crosses the road to eat them.

And now for something completely random:

Rand Paul looks like he was born with a spittoon on his head.

The Greek gods are dead because, as it turns out, feta cheese is carcinogenic.

Mogwai!  Mogwai!

I’m done now because I still have nothing interesting to say today.

Fancy French Phrases Insult My Intelligence

Because I’m bilingual and have a Ph.D., I usually don’t like to criticize people who use “fancy schmancy” vocabulary; after all, I happen to be one of those people.

Nevertheless, one can misuse sophisticated vocabulary and use (or mandate the use of) intelligent-sounding foreign terms when no need exists for it.

That said, I’d like to introduce you to the cooking term “mise en place.”  In English, this translates loosely as “gather all your shit before you start.”  Something so simple and helpful and obvious shouldn’t sound so daunting.

Obvious means obvious.  If you’re making tacos for your family, this means getting all of your ingredients in one place before you cook.   It also means frying the meat and grating the cheese (etc.) before you begin constructing the tacos.

On the other hand, I suppose you could grab your taco shell, then pull your meat from the refrigerator, then cook the meat, then put the meat in the taco shell, then locate and grate your cheese, then realize you forgot lettuce at the grocery store, then chop lettuce when you return from your emergency shopping trip, then find your sour cream, then smell your sour cream to make sure it isn’t expired, then realize that it is expired, then feed it to your cat, then eat the soggy lukewarm taco that has been waiting for you all this time.

"Gathering all your shit before you start" is also useful if you're hosting a party and plan to play bartender.  (Photo credit: Tannaz)

“Gathering all your shit before you start” is also useful if you’re hosting a party and plan to play bartender. (Photo credit: Tannaz)

 

Forgetting the Little Guy Insults My Intelligence

I’ve grown weary of watching all the big, “interesting” words hog the spotlight. After all, those rock stars are worthless without their sidekicks. Today, I’d like to focus some attention on the most resplendent of those “lesser” linguistic warriors:

The king (a.k.a. King The) has arrived.

The king (a.k.a. King The) has arrived.

King The can dazzle readers with his versatility. Although he maintains a single definition, he can be pronounced two ways to maintain auditory fluidity at all times. He also fills in gaps when things would otherwise sound clumsy or stilted. He even gives eyes a much needed respite between the more acknowledged behemoths of meaning.

Don’t take this as an article of faith. This article is the genuine article.

All hail The!

Relics Insult My Intelligence

People often throw around the word “relic” without giving thought to what they’re saying.  First off, there’s the word’s religious version that refers to the shard of a saint’s bone… among other things.  Then there’s the use of the term to describe something really really old, like this:

When in Rome, roam like the Romans.

One might call this a relic of an ancient civilization.

And then one might refer to an Apple IIe as a technological relic.

And the oldest teacher at your child’s school might be designated a relic as well.

Your dishwasher might also be a relic, though not because of any added respect because of lengthy experience or significance in history.  You probably call it a relic because it’s dead.

And at that point, the word “relic” loses all of its meaning… unless we’re talking about something I own that no longer works properly.  Then it’s a relic because I’m special and, because of that, it’s special too.

Or it would be special if it weren’t broken…

Schedules Insult My Intelligence

Quoth the sloth: sleep some more.  (Photo credit: Hunterwisson)

Quoth the sloth: sleep some more. (Photo credit: Hunterwisson)

Today is Wednesday.  I always post on Wednesday.  It’s my schedule.

I don’t feel like writing anything today.  But today is Wednesday.  I have to write something.

No I don’t.  I’m the boss.

Pass the donuts.

But I should write something.  My readers expect something.  My fingers expect exercise.

I don’t want fat fingers.  I want muscular fingers.

But I am tired.  I want to take a nap.  Sleep is good.

But it is Wednesday afternoon.  Sleep is for nights.  And I have to write.

Why do we say “write?”  I’m not writing.  I’m typing.

type type type type type type type

I must type because today is Wednesday.  Wednesday is typing day.  Wednesday is also “hump day.”

hump hump hump hump hump hump hump

Oh great.  Now I’ll never get anything done.  Maybe I can change.

I am a sloth.  I want to become two parts camel.

Slothdom eats.  Slothdom sleeps.  Slothdom humps.

Slothdom is beautiful.  Slothdom is incomplete.

Cameldom would carry me through the desert of parched ideas to the promised land of a finished piece of typistry.

And then I could still eat, sleep, and hump.

Legalese Insults My Intelligence

The world is beautiful and legalese is not… or at least it usually isn’t.  Contracts should be like poetry.  So… let’s play with an example from the Amazon.com Conditions of Use.

Amazon Poetry

License and Access

Subject
to your compliance
with these Conditions
of Use
and your
payment
of any applicable
fees,

Amazon
or its content
providers
grant you a limited,
non-exclusive,
non-transferable,
non-sublicensable
license to access
and make personal
and non-commercial
use
of the Amazon
Services.

This license
does not include
any
resale or commercial
use
of any Amazon
Service,
or its
contents;
any collection
and use of
any product listings,
descriptions,
or prices;
any derivative
use
of any Amazon
Service
or its contents;
any downloading
or copying of account
information
for the benefit
of another
merchant;
or any use
of data
mining,
robots,
or similar data
gathering
and extraction
tools.

All rights
not expressly
granted
to you
in these Conditions
of Use
or any Service
Terms
are reserved
and retained
by Amazon or its
licensors,
suppliers,
publishers,
rightsholders,
or other content
providers.

No Amazon Service,
nor any part
of any Amazon
Service,
may be
reproduced,
duplicated,
copied,
sold,
resold,
visited,
or otherwise
exploited
for any commercial
purpose
without
express written
consent
of Amazon.

You may not
frame
or utilize framing
techniques
to enclose any
trademark,
logo,
or other proprietary
information (including
images,
text,
page layout,
or form) of Amazon
without express written
consent.

You may not use
any
meta tags
or any other “hidden
text”
utilizing Amazon’s name or
trademarks
without the express written
consent
of Amazon.

You may not
misuse
the Amazon
Services.

You may
use
the Amazon
Services
only as permitted by
law.

The licenses
granted
by Amazon
terminate
if you do not
comply
with these Conditions
of Use
or any Service
Terms.

 

Moral of the story: if a lawyer is ever speaking to you in incomprehensible language, ask him to recite his jargon as a poem.  It’s more understandable that way.  Mostly.

And don’t worry. I’m not legally required to obtain Amazon’s express written consent before making fun of them.