Stick This Science in Your Pipe and Smoke it, Yo!

Have you ever watched National Geographic's "Extreme Universe"? You should if you can take the heat! It's the equivalent of watching a bunch of sooper brilliant scientists throwing themselves a really bitchin' rave. There's a British narrator who is obviously the puppet master of the whole affair. He speaks about things like the Kuiper belt, cloud formations and solar winds in this darkly menacing yet smooth and sultry tone that would suggest that he's backing you up against a wall to just bang the sweet life out of you. For every 1.5 words he speaks, about twenty-five images vaguely related to the topic at hand flash across the screen. There's a lot of time lapse shots and white flashes and electronic music. It's totally extreme to the fuckin' max!

The best part of the show is the "scientists" part. They talk about hard science with confidence! There's never any of that sad business you see at parties where the one, solitary, way-too-smart-to-be-for-real dude tries to field drunken questions like "Why's the Sun so big?!" all night long. Poor guy. He's just trapped there in the kitchen, visibly scanning his painfully large brain, desperately searching for normal people words and pop culture comparisons miles beneath his wider understanding of the universe, all so that he can placate the questioner and make them go away.

It's like watching someone try to find a needle in the haystack of human stupidity. The explanation will almost surely boil down to something like a quote from Everybody Loves Raymond and a math equation with letters in it. That, along with a lot of ferocious gesturing and blinking as if to try to blink himself into another room, behind a plant where you can't find him. Nobody wins in that scenario. Your shallow curiosity is left unfulfilled and now the genius is uncomfortable.

But not these geniuses!! No way, bro! They deliver the goods in plain English with genuine enthusiasm and a demeanor that says "As soon as I'm done bringing you turds up to speed on wormholes, I'm goin' home and gettin' laid! That's right, I got some wormholes of my own to explore tonight. How do you like them apples?!" There's even some obese Kenny Rogers type character in a cowboy hat who demonstrates how strong the winds of Neptune are by sandblasting a raw chicken to bits! WOAH! Wind is some gnarly shit! The only thing that would make this show even cooler is if everybody wore sunglasses.

I don't even know if I'm really writing about this right now or if I'm in the middle of the longest seizure anyone has ever had. All I know is that it's 4:30 in the morning and last thing I remember seeing was Extreme Universe. That's how extreme it is, dudes. It's so fuckin' hostile, it scrambles your brain and makes sleeping not happen. Like ADHD on steroids wrapped in crystal meth. SCIENCE!!

***Donation Button Disclaimer!***

Alright, dudes. I am well aware that as of right now, the majority of you guys reading this thing (whatever this thing is) are friends of mine. Or friends of friends. Or enemies of friends. Or my mom. Whatever you are, you may be feeling a bit cheesed out about the little donation box I just put on my page. To those of you who find this tactic super gross on my part, I understand. But please allow me a moment to plead my case!

Thanks.

Okay. First of all, I thought about posting ads on the page. I even did it for a minute and was overtaken with that horrible, itchy feeling doing something to other people that you don't like done to you gives you. I HATE ads. They steal your life force. So, I thought a tiny donation box would be the lesser of two evils. Also, there are a couple of things motivating me to keep this thing going right now.

1) A deep and sincere wish to not die, homeless and alone in a puddle of my own urine. Therefore, I should probably earn money doing what I love to do. I love to cut hair. It's pretty dang fun but I love to write about weird shit even more. If I could actually do exactly what I am doing right this second (not the apologizing for money grubbing part, but the writing part) for the rest of my life, I'd be the happiest camper in the trailer park! For reals.

2) The husband and I are moving to England in a year. An American dollar is worth about one square of toilet paper in England. Therefore, we are going to have to come up with about a football field's worth of toilet paper to make this work. Every bit of cash that comes our way is going into savings this year. So donations would help pay for toilet paper for our personal use!

So, yeah. There you have it. If you like reading this thing enough and have the cash to spare, please feel free to donate. If you're all like "go fuck yourself", feel free to not donate. If you're super broke, do NOT donate. No matter what you do, I appreciate you stopping by my page and I hope to see you again!!

Don't worry. I can't actually see you. Thanks, friends!

Shaking My Fist at the 3:30pm Night Sky.

I just watched a gazelle try to outrun a tiger on television and got jealous of the gazelle's ability to actually run. It's okay, I win. The tiger killed it. It can't run now.

You're seriously not supposed to break a sweat from folding towels! I need to get the fuck out of my apartment and breathe some real air. The problem is that while the real air is twenty degrees, the air inside my apartment is about ninety degrees. Why is it ninety degrees? Because my downstairs neighbor lady is roughly one million years old (give or take a year) and cranks her heat up so high that it radiates up through the floor. I've become strangely acclimated to it, even though smothering heat combined with Seattle's two and a half hours of Winter daylight makes facing the outside world seem about as appealing as brushing a dinosaur's teeth. So basically, I'm turning into a baked potato with hands and a face. I can't take it anymore. I'm gonna walk around the block! I may even go two blocks! I'm feeling crazy!!

Aaaaaaaaand there she goes. Ol' Tubby Wubberson out on her "Take that Winter, you stupid, stupid dick!" waddle around the block. She'll probably just end up at the conveyor belt sushi joint down the street again and really go for the gold like she usually does. Plate after plate of super healthy deep fried fish doused in mayo, then rolled up into salty rice with more mayo dumped all over it. Yum. The best part is that this particular chain of sushi restaurants is known for lighting their dining area up like a grow house. So, even if you tuck yourself into a private little corner, satellites in outer space can totally see you stuffing your face through the ceiling.

Wish her luck. She needs your good vibes to pull her out of her gross hermit funk. She needs you to tell her to stop referring to herself in the third person. She needs help to stop asking for help. She needs help.

xoxo

New Years Neverlutions

Every new year is a gift. It's an opportunity to loose the shackles holding you to that brick wall of failure called "last year". It's a whole new world of possibility and promise of something you don't have but want really bad. Therefore it is important that you make that something attainable for yourself by embracing those qualities that make you who you are. This means acknowledging not only your strengths but your weaknesses, too. My weakness is my strength. It's an ability to get through life marginally unscathed by my shitty outlook on it. But who doesn't want to better themselves once an occasion to do so arises?

It is because of my wish to become a better person despite a total lack of interest in self improvement that I have tailored this year's resolutions to my horrible attitude, using non-committal language and reverse psychology. On myself. They look something like this:

"I should eat more cereal. I should ONLY eat cereal. Cereal is the Water of Life."

"Saving money is stupid. Who saves money?? What are you trying to save it from? A shark attack?"

"It isn't nice for parents to deprive their children of the magical feeling only saying the f word in public can give you. I should probably be the one to show those kids how it's done."

"Going to the gym is exactly like begging a staph infection to hop up onto your body and live there."

"I need a drink."

I think if I stick with whatever the hell these declarations are, I might somehow make something happen, sometime. Maybe. I don't know. It's not really up to me, is it? But good luck to you! I hope all of your New Years wishes come true and that you become the awesomest person you can possibly imagine yourself to be this year. You deserve it! Just make sure your New Years resolutions are in a language your more dickish side can understand so it doesn't feel left out of the process. Otherwise it might strike out when you least expect it!

Now get out there and have yourself a Happy New Year! I'm going back to bed.