so much wine and booze
meats from seven continents
pass the vomit pail
Make sure to visit ajd's page for his entry. Vote by commenting here or there for the winner.
Voting ends Monday March 3. Vote for me! Vote early and often!
]]>Two men, 34 syllables, one topic. Topics are assigned on Monday, courtesy of www.m-w.com. On the Thursday of the following week, poetical genius will be delivered to you.
Michael Shogun — born Ryōri no Tetsujin — a man scarred by his warrior past. Abandoning his implements of combat, he traded mastery of the battlefield for knowledge of a new, more powerful, more deadly art. Three mystic numbers: 5 . . . 7 . . . 5.
ajd: an English sailor, pilot of the Erasmus, a Dutch trader-warship, and known to some as the anjin-san. Marooned in Nippon, he quickly abandoned his old ways and became a master of the ancient art of . . . haiku.
Select the Iron Poet! Vote by commenting on the appropriate website.
lucullan
NOTE: We're delayed a week thanks to ajd and I battling hordes of ikko-ikki, militant Buddhist monks who have just thrown things into a huge tizzy. Battle commences tomorrow.
]]>"This place is great! Let's eat some sort of mollusk or crustacean again!"
"Saw old Millie Beals again down at the gas station. She was buying her weekly ration of Riunite and Pabst. For a 50-year-old woman, she looks like a fantastic 90-year-old. I threw it in her anyway, of course."
"The water's out again. I drank my own urine to stay alive because the ground is too frozen to dig a new well."
"The goddammed deer are back again. The same doe I shot at with my thirty ought-six last week keeps nosing around the compost bin, even though there hasn't been anything edible in there for years. I threw it in her anyway, of course."
]]>11:03AM: Song has played twenty times so far. I feel a little sleepier than before I started this experiment.
11:52AM: I wonder what Rachelle, a girlfriend from the summer of 1990, has been doing recently. I'll bet for sure she hasn't been listening to a goddamned flugelhorn for over three hours.
12:33PM: Slowly realizing why some people drink on the job.
1:05PM: Someone just walked into my office thinking it was an elevator.
1:54PM: According to Wikipedia, prominent jazz flugelhorn players include Miles Davis, Clark Terry, Freddie Hubbard, Art Farmer, Hugh Masekela, Tony Guerrero, Jimmy Owens, Chet Baker, Chuck Mangione, Maynard Ferguson, Woody Shaw, Kenny Wheeler and Tom Harrell." Only one of these people is currently torturing me and needs to die.
2:44PM: The song has been playing on my MacBook Pro throughout my group's weekly meeting. A co-worker asked me, "What's with the "Sanford and Son" music?" Tomorrow I will be listening to the theme from "Sanford and Son" for the entire work day.
3:38PM: Andrew has suggested I spend a day listening to New York Jets coach Eric Mangini next time.
4:10PM: This has been like being on hold with the cable company for almost eight hours. Which, oddly enough, is shorter than I usually have to wait.
4:24PM: Fifty-four. Fifty-four times I have played this song today. Which is about the same rate as most Eastern Maine radio stations play it.
4:44PM: That's it, I'm done. Quit midway during the fifty-seventh playing. I'd like to say that I've learned something about the nature of man, or could describe a transcendental experience as a result of this experiment. I'd also like to say I have a pony, the prettiest pony on Planet Pony.
All I know is that it really isn't that hard to listen to a well-crafted pop song for an entire work day. I'd like to challenge the Internets to provide me with suggestions of popular songs — the definition of "popular song" is not firm — that I could not stomach for one full day of work. I can promise at least two independent observers for verification, and one iPod to ensure that I have constant access to the song even away from my laptop. After today's experiment, I'm pretty sure that I could even handle "Don't Worry, Be Happy" or "We Built This City" for nine hours. Strike that, I'm sure I could handle five full days of work, Monday through Friday, with either of those songs constantly playing, and at least five independent observers to monitor my performance. Hell, I'll even print out pictures of the band and decorate my office door prior to beginning. Bring me your worst.
]]>Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Honestly, look around for something a little more structurally sound. And the smell, my God.
Q: What's the difference between a sunset and a zombie?
A: One makes the "sun red", the other is a reanimated corpse that feasts on the brains of the living.
Hang your head
Metal health has made him dead
Float! Float! Float! Float!
Cash bar
"I haven't seen that many inches in a long time."
]]>(Editor's note: If you do not know what 2girls1cup is about, I implore you to not find out.)
]]>And then while they're distracted, we could all sneak into Jerusalem and steal the secret pornography stash they've been fighting over for the last 3,000 years.
]]>E. B. White, One Man's Meat
]]>ADULT SAYS: "Stop kicking while I'm changing your diaper."
CHILD HEARS: "Kick me in the crotch as hard as you possibly can, like you're Charlie Brown finally getting a shot at that football while Lucy isn't paying attention because she's staring at a pack of wolverines attacking a bunny, and laugh like a hyena full of nitrous oxide when I collapse on the floor praying to every diety throughout human history to end the pain and return to me the gift of sight."
NOTE: Depending on age of child and angle of attack, you may fail to hear actual laughter due to your state of unconsciousness.
]]>