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.
Write!
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

Irony Still Insults My Intelligence

Never underestimate the deliciousness of random body parts.  (Photo credit: Wally Gobetz)

Never underestimate the deliciousness of random body parts. (Photo credit: Wally Gobetz)

Yesterday
I cooked
chicken livers.

They were irony
and very tasty.

She
had challenged me
to do
something
of use.

She
wanted me
to iron something,
anything,
for our date that evening.

I put the iron
in dinner
and she was not amused.

Then she
did
my laundry
properly,
thoroughly,
lovingly
to teach me a lesson.

Lying to Children Insults My Intelligence

Today, I would like to make a public service announcement to all the children who started following my blog after the recent Vagina Monologues post.  I feel that we must teach them the value of orderly speech and behavior.  And so, without further ado, I present to you a special guide for the little ones.

Good morning boys and girls!  I hope you had sweet dreams, dreams of lollipops and cookies and cute little kitty cats.  Your mommy and daddy want you to be happy.  Your mommy and daddy are always right.

Your mommy and daddy also say things you don’t understand.  You should be like mommy and daddy.  You should talk like mommy and daddy.  You should learn what their words mean.

Never stop learning.  (Photo credit: rude cactus)

Never stop learning. (Photo credit: rude cactus)

“Beer” is not for you.  It’s how mommy and daddy make babies.  You can try beer when you’re 28.  By then, you will be finishing “college.”  College is where people learn how to use beer.  These lessons take a very long time.

A “condom” is a small water balloon.  That’s why mommy and daddy are always playing with them.  Ask daddy why the condoms are so small.

“Emphysema” is why the ham tastes so good.  It takes a lot of smoke to make an emphysema.  If mommy keeps smoking, worms will think you taste good too.

Everybody “has sex.”  You are a girl or a boy.  Your daddy is a big boy.  Your mommy is a big girl.  That is their sex.  Tell mommy and daddy every day that they have sex.

“Guns” will make you happy unless the other kids get more of them.  Ask mommy and daddy to buy you guns.  One day, you’ll be allowed to “vote.”  If you have a lot of guns, your “vote” can protect them.  If you vote for guns, you can have a Tea Party.

“Gay marriage” means nothing.  Gay means “happy” and all marriages are happy.  Mommy and daddy are always happy.  Tell mommy and daddy that they have a gay marriage.  If they ask questions, tell mommy that she’s as good as a man.  All women are as good as men.

“The F word” is “fart.”  Tell your teacher that mommy and daddy do the F word on the sofa.  And they do it in the kitchen.  And in the bathroom.   And in the front yard.  If your teacher looks unhappy, just say “pork and beans.”

“Repossessed” means that ghosts now live in your house.  The ghosts want to kill you.   That smaller apartment will save your life.  Mommy and Daddy are crying because they’re so happy.  Tell mommy and daddy that the IRS is glad they’re happy.

“The IRS” are my heroes.  They’re like the Ghostbusters, but they carry better guns.  Guns make people happy.  Call the IRS today and ask them to visit mommy and daddy.

“Schizophrenia” means that you can ask mommy and daddy the same question until you get the answer you want.  They won’t remember they said “no” three times before that.  Schizophrenia makes mommy and daddy better parents.  Look for the word “schizophrenia” on all those tiny little bottles in mommy and daddy’s bathroom.

Odie Insults My Intelligence

Once upon a time, an anti-drug crusader named Jim Davis decided to write a comic strip to warn children about the dangers of addictions.

Yes, I mean Garfield.

However, Mr. Davis missed the boat.  He depicted a feline lasagna addict who couldn’t resist anything edible; Davis could have easily added an illegal dependency to the character and still had him be believable.  Problem is, Garfield displays intelligence and humor and everything else you don’t want people associating with dangerous behaviors.

And then there’s Odie.

Look at those unnaturally wide eyes.  (Photo credit: Marty--McFly)

Look at those unnaturally wide eyes. (Photo credit: Marty–McFly)

“Odie” is an extended spelling of O.D., which in turn is short for overdose.  Odie was supposed to foreshadow the dangers of addiction: mental incapacity, constant drooling, hyperactivity, and the unending potential for someone to cry out O.D. if he does something really bad.  Instead, Davis characterized Odie as friendly, innocent, and often more likable than any other character in the comic strip.

That’s not how you talk people out of using drugs.

Baskin Robbins Insults My Intelligence

Lime, thyme, beef, beet, corn,
Yam, spam, clam, ham, hen, horse, tripe,
Squash, dill, snail, quail, kale,
Cat, cod, pho, gin, worms, wine, wurst,
Chive, cloves, squid, duck, lox, frog, flan.

You know something's wrong when chocolate chip cookie dough is an exciting flavor.  (Photo credit: pamramsey)

You know something’s wrong when chocolate chip cookie dough is an exciting flavor. (Photo credit: pamramsey)

31 potentially interesting flavors, and we only get chocolate, vanilla, and all sorts of stuff mixed into chocolate and vanilla. Assert your culinary rights today.  Demand better flavors.

Self-Destruction Insults My Intelligence

I had been here before, a long time ago.  The roof.  The wind in my hair as I fell to the earth… bones shattering, blood spurting, children crying, and journalists salivating over their headline story for the next day.

You guessed it.  No swimming pool.  (Photo credit: Cheri Lucas Rowlands/Daily Post)

You guessed it: no swimming pool, bushes, trampolines, or artificially enhanced supermodels to break my fall. (Photo credit: Cheri Lucas Rowlands/Daily Post)

But I survived and now I was back atop the roof of Very Bad Situation.  I could jump again and face more consequences if I so desired.  Alternately, I could climb from my perch and go back inside where my bones would be shattered again and my blood would spurt, albeit less conspicuously and more gradually and much to the entertainment of everybody present.

Just like on TV.

Then again, maybe I could abandon my obligation to choose.  The sun warms my skin as I sit here and a gentle breeze blows through my hair.  If I’m lucky, God could send a nice little windstorm to knock me down the stairwell or to the street below.  My executioners (the pavement and/or the bureaucrats at Very Bad Situation) would still get to enjoy a feast and my soul would be relieved from having to take ownership of a punishment I do not wish to partake of.

That is, after all, the way evil is done to us: by forcing our prior consent, by blinding us to any alternate possibilities, by attempting to make us “serve” someone else when no authentic service would be given by jumping or by returning inside.

 

Moral of the story: When duty calls, eat a hamburger.  (If you’re Hindu, eat a veggie burger.)  The burger loves you unconditionally and asks nothing of you beyond some decent mustard and perhaps some ketchup.

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!

Closed Ears Insult My Intelligence

In this age of Twitter and of Facebook status updates and of the constant broadcasting of everyone’s most insignificant thoughts as though they were meaningful, people have grown accustomed to letting their ideas flow uninterrupted and unchallenged.  At the same time, the art of listening has been forgotten.  For that reason, I’d like to promote the relearning of that critical skill:

1- Take your fingers out of your ears.  I realize that you’re trying to expedite the listening process by trying to remove all that wax.  Unfortunately, that’s less helpful than you think.

2- Shut your trap.  You do not hear through your tongue.

3- Stop talking.  If the other person can’t get a word in edgewise, you’re not listening.

4- Be quiet.  It’s hard to hear the other person when you’re making all that noise.

5- Zip it.  (Your mouth and especially your pants.  Distractions are bad.)

6- Now that your mouth is hopefully inactive, get rid of all that extra noise inside your head.  You know, it’s your planned reply or perhaps the latest Miley Cyrus song you just can’t get out of your head.  I figure I can accuse you of loving Miley Cyrus because you’re not listening to me anyway.

7- Do not assume that the other person is full of bullshit simply because they’re not telling you what you already believe.  The world is full of people who already do that   They’re called politicians, prostitutes, and clothing salespeople. 

8- It does not count as listening when you believe the salesman when he tells you that your butt does not look big in whatever you’re trying on.  Listening means taking a moment to think about what you’re hearing.

9- Never forget that what you supposedly hear is important to the other person, even if you consider it to be total BS.  They’ll be annoyed if you disregard what entered your ears.  Bugs can be sent in to check on the successful transmission of information.

10- Start drinking.  Listening will open up a world of unpleasant information and alcohol is one effective way to cope with the shattering of your fragile little worldview.

11- In case you didn’t get the point earlier, shut up.

This isn't listening.  (Photo credit: oddharmonic)

This isn’t listening. (Photo credit: oddharmonic)

Forgetfulness Insults My Intelligence

A very (Photo credit: Quinn Dombrowski)

The ghost of Christmas past has gotten a lot more dramatic with time.  (Photo credit: Quinn Dombrowski)

I remember.
Ten years ago,
You were interested.
You convinced our friends
to leave us
alone.

Idiots.

I wasn’t interested.
You didn’t talk to me
for a year
until they talked some sense into you.
Or cheer.
Or maybe a bribe.
Or tequila.

The good old days.

And now,
we meet.
You and yours.
A friend and his.
Me,
and your best friend.

She’s interested.
You know I’m not.
You’re setting us up.

Those who forget their history
are doomed to inflict it on others.

Your ego was
tolerated
until then
because I remember the old you.

You lost that memory
underneath the TV shows,
movies,
fast food adoration
and the willingness to
falsify your own memoir.

I’m not so willing
to jump
into razor blades
covered
with french fries
and chocolate pudding
because you
want to dance
without guilt.

Innocence is knowing that it’s the other person’s fault.
Thank you for freeing me.

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:

Kindness Insults My Intelligence

Don't worry.  All those messages aren't you.  My mom called once last night.  (Photo credit: Dave Chamberlain)

Don’t worry. All those messages aren’t you. My mom called once last night. (Photo credit: Dave Chamberlain)

Thank you for your kind telephone call. Because the ringing started promptly at 6:30, I did not have to listen to my annoying family members during dinner.

Thank you for kindly not hanging up on our machine. We use it to weed out the undesirable callers but you demonstrated your friendliness by persisting.

Thank you for kindly leaving a message after the beep. We appreciate you taking the time from your busy schedule to inform us that we may qualify for lower interest rates on our credit cards.

Thank you for kindly repeating your message multiple times even though no one is on the line with you. It brings back the nostalgia of a scratched vinyl record. It also reminds me of political campaigns, Miley Cyrus, and Justin Bieber.

Thank you for kindly using an automated message instead of a live human. Listening to a machine is less painful than hearing a man writhe in agony as he desperately seeks a lifeline.

Thank you for kindly calling back fifteen minutes later to make sure we received the original message. We had forgotten to check and we plan to forget again.

Thank you for kindly calling a third time so that we could finish our dinner with the same melodic ringing we started with.  You obviously understood that we were forgetting the second message as well.

And last, but certainly not least…

Thank you for kindly not suing us for picking up the phone and asking your robocaller if she dreams of performing [grown-up activity] with R2D2 and C3PO. Harassment is a serious matter and I trust that you would never stand for the mistreatment of any living or robotic entity.

Dead Food Insults My Intelligence

Old and dusty foodstuffs are mummifying in my pantry.

Come on, admit it.

Admit it.  Your pantry needs cleaning too.  (Photo credit: slworking2)

We all go through phases where we eat a lot of one thing and then change to something else for one reason or another. After that, cans and bottles and jars and boxes just sit and sit and sit and sit until we have to make a decision on whether to throw them away.

The environmentalist in us wants to say that the 10-year-old can of tomatoes is still good because the tomatoes aren’t moldy and they don’t smell bad.  We shouldn’t waste so much food.

The hypochondriac in us wonders why we allowed ourselves to inhale the vapors of those 10-year-old-tomatoes.

The biologist in us wants to put those tomatoes under a microscope because there’s probably some pretty nifty stuff growing on there.

The chemist in us realizes that the can had probably released enough carcinogens into those tomatoes to make them poisonous to whatever interesting microorganisms we may have found.

Our ER doctor realizes that those chemicals can also be toxic to us not-so-micro organisms.

Our local mortician is grateful for the proliferation of mummified foodstuffs. You’d think that the availability of cost-free mummification would hurt a mortician’s business, but…