Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Today his pants, tomorrow the world!

My shorts nearly bested me today. It vexes me to think that a pair of shorts almost outsmarted me. I had just stepped out from the shower, and since the house in which I currently reside is filled with people who would rather not see me skip around with my waist girded by a fluffy blue towel, I threw on a set o' shorts to cross from the bathroom into my bedroom. However, when the time came for me to cast aside the shorts in favour of the pants I wanted to wear...technical difficulties arose.

To properly understand the struggle that ensued between me and the shorts, you must take into consideration that these shorts are, for lack of a better term, drawstring. In order for them to stay around my waist, two ends of cord must be tied together in a bow. Like a pair of shoelaces. Tying them into a bow was easy. Apparently, however, it requires much more dexterity and intelligence to undo the bow.

I suppose the shorts felt that they deserved some time out with me; I usually wear shorts indoors, and prefer full-length pants whenever I am outdoors. (That saves people from being blinded by my well-toned and very pale legs) Perhaps the shorts grew jealous or vindictive. Perhaps they went stir-crazy. Whatever the cause might have been, a simple bow turned into an ugly knot, the likes of which required me a good minute or two to carefully undo.

In the end, I prevailed and proved why human beings are higher on the rungs of the evolutionary ladder than pants. Yet I am still concerned at how easily they were able to outsmart me, even if it was only temporary. This could be the prelude to a vicious war between humanity and pants, where the pants will attack their owners in a bid to rule the world.

Think about it: since pants are wrapped around our legs, they can force us to walk where they want us to walk. If pants are able to suddenly move without anyone inside of them (as demonstrated with terrifying description by Dr. Seuss in his book The Snitches & Other Stories), they could pounce on unsuspecting humans, wrap their jean-skinned legs around our arms and chests, and like a puppeteer force us to do scary things. What those scary things might be, I don't know, for I'm too terrified to consider such things, though I'm sure they would be scary if I dared to try!

And heaven help us all if pants suddenly decide that they're carnivorous!

Today my shorts declared war on me. After a brief but exhausting struggle, I claimed the victory. Yet not without suffering a price. Now whenever I turn off the lights in my room as I go to sleep, I shall have to keep one eye open on the seemingly harmless blue jeans laid out over the back of my chair.....

Today's Lesson: It may not be paranoia if your pants are actually after you. (Though whether or not it's just stupidity on your part remains to be seen.)


posted by Phillip at 2:17 PM

 
Snobgoblins

Today I dined like royalty...if royalty ever dined in a Williams coffee pub. Daring to try new things, I sampled a bottle of "Pirate Root Beer". Some of you are perhaps thinking I've seen Johnny Depp as Captain Jack "But where's the rum?" Sparrow one too many times, but I beg to disagree. For you see, between the words "pirate" and "root" was the crucial advertizing ploy, namely the word "gourmet".

So today, I drank gourmet root beer. This has given my already bloated ego an added surge of superiority. I feel elitist. I feel snobbish. I feel like a member of Stephen Leacock's idle rich.

I suddenly have this urge to walk around with a Pekinese dog named Precious, whose haircut resembles what you'd get if you took a six year-old, blindfolded him and spun him around a dozen times, and then let him have a go at the pooch with a weed-whacker. I suddenly have this urge to play croquet and make remarks like, "A well-played move, Muffy! Now let's summon Bruce with our Perrier and imported Scottish scones." I suddenly have thus urge to dress like I'm going to a polo match and walk around in the middle of the mall, smacking random people in the butt with my rider's crop as I shout, "Good show, old man!" I have this sudden urge to create an enormous library full of impressive-sounding books that I have no intention of ever reading. I have this sudden urge to capriciously shun fashion trends simply because the designer isn't an European whose name I can't pronounce.

I suddenly have this urge to not eat anything unless it's "gourmet". Gourmet coffee. Gourmet mashed potatoes. Gourmet beef. Gourmet Frosted Lucky Lucky Charms cereal! Gourmet gummy worms! Gourmet gnu pâté!


[We interrupt this little bit of nowhere, as we appear to be experiencing technical difficulties with the Ego. The humble Conscience would like to apologise to everyone reading this, and would also like to reassure you all that the Ego should be subdued in time for the next post, once the tazers are primed.]


Today's Lesson: sometimes absolute nonsense, in some twisted "has the world gone completely mad?!" fashion, makes sense.


posted by Phillip at 6:58 PM

 
Deep Thinkers, Inc.

Has there ever been an hors d'oeuvre like: Gnu Pâté?


posted by Phillip at 5:16 PM