Thursday, July 30, 2009

What does it mean?

I had this dream last night about an old friend of mine that I haven't seen in years. In this dream he was single, but in real life he is married. The other part of the dream was that he had used condoms strewn about his pad and a huge assortment of sex toys. Now, I think you might now where this is going, but wait, there's a big wtf twist! The dream became focused on a pet of his: a magical cat. This guy hates cats in real life, so why in hell did the dream include this? The cat was magical, though. It knew how to make its own Fancy Feast dinners appear out of thin air, balls of yarn would just fly about the place, and it would even talk in a weird cat voice.

So, Kenny, is it true? Are you now single, creepy with sex implements, and own a magical pet cat? I'll be waiting for your answer.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Re-onion and udder things

I went to a family reunion last Friday. It was my mom's side of the family. I've never had a family reunion on my dad's side of the family because my dad and his half-sister are just barely acknowledging each other. While I find my father's side of the family more interesting, in a clinical way, I do get along better with my mom's side of the family. It was a good get together and I got to have some face time with my cuz Brett (formerly, The Incorrigible Vagabond) who inspired me to start blogging in the first place. I just wish all of my sisters were there. I wish I could get more into that, but I said that I wouldn't.

The other things: went off roading, bought a cowboy period-style piece for target shooting, pulled a nearly overturned truck out of a culvert with my truck, slashed my wrist while trying to roll up a window in my damned truck when the handle broke and the jagged left overs dug a nice trench in me. That gas station attendant was real spot on with her getting me first-aide supplies. I spent my Sunday asking God "why" and avoided people. I think it's the manses. Anyway, it was a full weekend.

What'd you get up to?

Monday, July 20, 2009

My Imagination, Part One

My imagination gets all the chicks. I hate it. Even if I have a woman my imagination goes out and gets a better one. I can't compete.

The other thing I hate about my imagination is that it conspires with my memory recall to bring up weird nudity that I've seen over the years, and places it right in the silver screen of my mind at the most inappropriate times. For example, I am talking to a woman about her new grand kid and Tara Reid's Frankennipple pops into my mind. Things resembling sea monsters eating nachos, shaved voles, and rude vegetables compete for my attention constantly in crucial times. This is why I am not the CEO of Dairy Queen right now. The real kicker is that in times of loneliness and arousal my imagination leaves me and can only think about stuff like how good an actor George C. Scott was. I mean, Patton...are you kidding me? That guy is a national treasure.

The thing about nudity and my imagination is that it can only do one body part at a time accurately. If my imagination tries to create a whole composite, then things start to get a bit strange. Let's try this for example, if I were to imagine a whole nude woman and then bring that creation to life in the real world, she would resemble Salvador Dali's "The Bather". The cruelty of my imagination is unending.

This is not totally about my imagination, but I was at my friend's house this Saturday. It was sad because they got a replacement pet for their elderly blue healer: a cute black lab puppy. Nothing says "You're gonna make great mulch for the rose garden" to your old dog like having it train the replacement. I could tell that old Blue was pretty depressed about it all because she didn't even bother telling the pup where to go bathroom--it just peed all over the floor inside. I mean, how can you do your job when your morale is low? The bonus part of training your replacement is that you can train them wrong. Take that, master's shoe! Okay, that part involved imagination.

I'm tired now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Living Cereal

There are certain kinds of cereal that I believe to be alive when you prepare them for consumption. I'm talking about the floaty kind of cereal. You pour the milk on them and the little bits of cereal try to escape, jumping off the edge of the bowl in hopes that an ant will whisk them away to freedom. If they are smart the bits will choose the most opportune moments to jump, like when you are moving your bowl from the counter to the coffee table. It's there that the cereal bit can drop on the floor and become undesirable for human consumption, banking on there not being any dogs or babies to eat them. The other places that cereal can drop are in sofa/recliner cushions, baby seats, and in the folds of the morbidly obese.

There's also the kinds of cereal that comes into play: being the type that mom buys and you don't want to eat, kids. That cereal goes on to live an exciting life of adventure in the waste facilities of the world. I think that, in this case, I'd want to be generic, sugar-free raisin bran or anything that involves natural ingredients--the cereals that are made up entirely of delicious poison and cut the roof of your mouth don't stand a chance.

It's unfortunate, however, that the liberated bit of cereal really does nothing with its freedom other than watch feet nearly crush them to death. The anxiety of being free cereal must be great, but so too is the need to not be eaten.


Thursday, July 09, 2009


Time machines would be great. But there is something that I would do with that technology to make all of our lives kick tits: The "Just In Time" Machine (patent pending). This works great for hitting those historical or personal events that you want to relive, witness, or fuck with the space-time continuum just so you can make sure that your mother-doesn't-marry-someone-better-than-your dad-so-you-can-exist kind of thing, because we all know that you get an awesome Toyota 4x4 truck that you can take your girlfriend to the lake in and you can screw her all night and she won't get pregnant kind of "new" present life. Longest sentence ever! But wait...there's more!!! The Just In Time Machine (patent pending) really shines in future travel. It is perfect for nailing the perfect spots for witnessing natural disasters, accidents, assassinations, celebrity wardrobe malfunctions, and even Jesus Christ himself!

Dogs need to get jobs, buy things, and learn how to drive. It's the only way we can fix this economy.

I went in for my quarterly cancer examination today. Things checked out great with one exception: my hemoglobin is low. I asked my doctor why it was low and she couldn't say. This got me thinking about possible causes. I came to the conclusion, after much thought, that I was raped in the night by the Hemogoblin. I made this deduction from the fact that my ass hurt when I woke up this morning and rose petals were stuffed in my shoes. True story.

Fun Fact: Work is slowly robbing you of your will to live.

Have a good weekend!

Sunday, July 05, 2009

The mountain trail is the new "bath house"

So, I was going on my Sunday evening hike and I came across these two men on the trail. We all stopped a bit to talk about the canyon and I asked them how far up the trail went and so forth. Anyway, the "leader" of the two starts asking me a lot of personal questions and then introduces himself with a hand shake. The quiet one looks me directly in the eye, and with no irony says, "They call me Hawk." Besides the obvious question of who "they" was, I was tempted to just come right out and say that I wasn't interested in being raped in the forest.

I think I need to start carrying mace.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

My interests

My activity on this blog has been in decline (for me, at least). Ever since I got back from my vacation awhile back it has been hard for me to focus on certain things. Since it has been a whole week (!) since my last post I have decided to share with you some of my new-found passions: fun, lobster racing, snipe awareness, touching my nose with my_______, making dirty thoughts pop into people's heads without doing anything dirty, dust bunny rancher, likes a wide variety of hats (does not wear hats), bonsai tree liberation, taco cart maintenance, fish bowling, star gazing with Bob (imaginary mentor--I'm all grown up now).

Aside from these new pursuits and hobbies, I have been busy deconstructing my milieu. See, I had this dream. In this dream I was involved in an activity where the adult men and young men were gathered into a gymnasium. We were told to bring a gun. When we were all present, the leader told us to stand apart from each other a certain distance and then to fire our guns in turns. I kept asking the leader why we were doing this. He told me that it was better to be obedient and assured me that no one would die or get hurt badly. I was rather nervous in the dream because I was only ten feet away from a boy pointing a double-barrel shotgun at me. I pretty much knew that I would be wasted with one shot. I persisted in questioning every grownup in the group and everyone seemed to ignore me now, instead laughing with each other and acting rather casual--this was all going to be fun. End dream.

This impressed upon me the futility of warning a body/group of the foolishness that they are engaged in. A group is an organism. It will do many things to protect itself.

I've been thinking about the collective state of mind versus the individual: happiness. I really believe that a member of the collective will sacrifice their individual self for their collective self out of the need for security and comfort over autonomy and truth. The collective will rarely, if ever, truly listen to an individual who threatens the state of the collective; whereas, the individual can become completely absorbed by the collective.

Collective/group reality seems to be just as subjective and prone to credulity as that of the individual, if not more. Group think is prone to depersonalization as well as a lack of critical thinking. The responsibility of scrutiny is dispersed completely. It is no wonder that large groups of people have taken in claims, concepts and myths in confidence from jugglers of perception and emotion.

This all takes me back to the days when I was studying social psychology. It is nice to shut the brain down and make everybody happy, but I don't think that they understood what it was that made me unhappy. The more I think, the more it seems to unravel who I am. My real interest in life is thinking. I am a thinker. Speaking in general, if what I think about makes you feel uncomfortable, then that is tough shit. I am a big enough person to handle your mind garbage, why not you mine?

PS. I love my blog and my bloggies.