How to Make an Idea

Making an idea isn’t as difficult as your mother says it is. In fact, by following a few easy steps you can overcome your fear of idea creation and make an idea of your very own.

Why come up with an idea? Well, ideas are a great way to get people to do things. Whether you want to make your “target” audience buy a new and improved baby formula or drive that gas guzzling lemon off the lot -- heck, even even if you just want to come up with the “Big Idea” -- an idea can help you get there fast.

Here's how you do it.

1. Collect the raw material.

Despite popular belief, you can’t make an idea out of thin air. An idea is the result of a complex series of chemical reactions occurring between actual, physical objects. If you want to make a real idea, you’ll need to start by obtaining only the best ingredients. There are several methods from which you can choose. For the best results, try a combination of all three.

Hunting and gathering. Yes it is old fashioned, but it works amazingly. Don’t forget to bring a high-powered automatic weapon and a basket. You will be on the prowl for anything from bison and large bucks to walnuts and cranberries. When hunting, don’t forget to cover yourself in urine and wait for your prey to come to you.

Slash and burn. Even if you don’t know what this is, do it any way. If you do it right, you’ll probably procure some interesting foodstuffs. But don’t fret if you just end up destroying everything in your path and moving on.

Shop. Go to your favorite supermarket and feed your wildest desires. Scour the brightly lighted aisles and freezers and fill your cart to the brim. We don’t recommend buying locally or in season, since this can take a toll on your overhead wallet (if you don’t have one these, prayer may help). Try to limit any stealing to a few grapes, for management at most market places tends to be cranky and have long arms that they may flail in moments of intense anger. If there are no stores nearby, use the FreshDirect or PeaPod. Just make sure to order in advance, and don’t forget to tip the delivery men at least a few bucks.

2. Serve and eat.

You don’t want to do this alone because it is incredibly pathetic. Instead, host a tea party. It is important, however, to invite only your imaginary friends. Real friends are hard to come by, often steal recipes and eventually return to their own homes. You want those with whom you share your spoils to return to the inside of your head where they can work together to bring the idea-making process to life. Use disposable paper plates to reduce cleaning time and water waste. It is best to serve buffet style so your guests can mix and match to facilitate a diversity of raw material consumption. And don’t forget the garnish. Presentation is everything.

3. Digest.

After you have finished your meal and all the guests have returned to the comfort of their home, take some time for yourself. You deserve it. Go to a movie alone. Take a walk by yourself. Watch hours upon hours of Internet porn. Cry in the shower. Whatever you do, give yourself time to digest. You must keep yourself from thinking about all the weird and terrible things you did to get to this point and just enjoy yourself -- it is integral to successful idea creation.

4. Poop.

That’s right, poop. Don't push, just let the idea come out on it's own. And it will. If you have followed steps 1 through 3 properly, there will be plenty coming down the pike and the idea will just ease right out on its own. Remember, it’s important not to force idea creation so as to avoid anal tearing.

5. Show it to the world.

Now it’s time to get out of your own head. At this stage, the idea (poop) has been created. But, chances are, it isn't very good. In fact, it probably stinks. This is normal, and the only way to improve it is to show it to others. Bring it to work, to family gatherings, on dates. Fling it at those who matter to you most -- really toss it around -- and take note of their criticisms. Once they see what you’ve been working on all this time, the people in your life will surely forgive your absenteeism and provide constructive feedback that should help finalize your work. If they don’t react in a positive manner, don’t take it to heart. Just smile and nod, place your idea in your suitcase, take what you’ve learned about yourself and the world to your house and get back to work.

Daily Inspirational #32.25: Identity Theft is a Not a Choice, It's a Dance Craze, and You're the Feet

What's the latest news? What's the hot craze? It's not ringtones or transplants or a new band or even fun. No: Everyone is trying to steal your identity. Everyone. It's amazing. It's unfuckingbelievable. And anyone who says otherwise? They're just trying to steal your identity. They'll butter you up until you'll entrust your identity to them for safekeeping and protection from the people trying to steal your identity. God you're an idiot. Can't you see what's happening here? From coast to coast, old and young alike, from Main Street to Wall Street, everyone wants to ambush, kidnap and ransom your personal information. "I can pick most identities with a credit card," says one criminal. "I know when your identity is home, and when it's not," says another. But it's not all criminals, mind you. Fact: Paris Hilton recently wore a cheap facsimile of your identity on the red carpet. Myth: It dazzled in the sun like a thousand miniature camera flashes. Fact: it was a thousand miniature camera flashes, each one desperately trying to get an accidental glimpse of your social security number. Fact: this has been going on for years, centuries even, not just with the Hiltons and facts and myths, but everyone and everything, since long before you were born, starting initially as a kind of wild and faithful anticipation in the form of religious beliefs. Christianity? Judaism? It's all just one long queue, not to get into heaven, but into your identity. And now that you're finally here and actually exist, after all those centuries of not even knowing what the hell was going on, people are lining up to get your identity as if Jesus moved into the Apple Store and joined the Beatles starring Shia Labeouf's lost potential. This shit (your identity) is so hot and so hip that it entirely erases the new black, and in fact removes all old and new black alike from existence, leaving just a pristine white light shining down on your identity, highlighting everything any one needs to know to become you in paper form, which is the best and most badass form you've ever taken. Paper-you is like the you you've always wanted to be, all inky and pulpy with clear margins and brackets and immortality, but in the end it's not what you'll be at all, but instead what everyone else will finally become when you inevitably trip up and let them take your identity like you definitely will because you're a self destructive and self loathing idiot that wants to lose.

Unless you take our advice, of course.

What's our advice? We're glad you asked. It's passwords. You need the perfect password and maybe even a few, but start with one. Immediately get rid of your old passwords. Bring them to the nearest recycling plant and hide them in old bottles, thus rendering your old passwords nonexistent because recycling is a myth like the war in Afghanistan. Okay, now that you're free and clear, make a new password. It should be at least eight characters long and include a childhood memory that you've always wanted to forget but can't, like that time you had a new memory and tried to forget it but couldn't. Remember that? Of course you do. Also: Try to spell everything incorrectly and use numbers that look like letters and letters that look like numbers, or at least pretend that you're doing as much. Really pretend, hard, or at least pretend that you are, hard. Why? Because security measures are 10% encryption and 90% attitude. Now put your birthday at the end of it all and that should do it. Except for one thing:

you.

That's right, you knew it was coming. You're trying to steal your identity too. What, did you think you were exempt because you're better than everyone else? Get off your high horse and shoot it because that's lame, son. Did you really think that you, of all people, don't need to steal your identity? Ha! Rather, isn't it you more than anyone else that actually needs your identity? The rest of us are just out here having fun, trying out a new craze, but for you this is serious. If you don't steal your identity every morning, who will? You don't want to find out, but you have to. Why? Because it will probably be you, and if not, then whoever it is will be you soon enough because they just stole your identity. So, the one person who shouldn't know your password, more so than anyone else, is you, because really you're the only one trying to steal it, at least hypothetically. Everyone else in the world is a matchstick with a potential energy level of you.

You're going to need a password that even you don't know.

But that's not all. Here is the big leap we need you to take today. You need to create a password that not only can you never know, but one that only everyone else will ever know, everyone but you, forever. Why? Because letting other people have things is the only way to truly own things? No, shut up. Listen: you need to think of this inevitable theft not as a terrible crime, but a grand opportunity to find out what you really look like, to find out what you really want to buy on all those credit cards, where you want to go, who you want to talk to. You can be you vicariously, a million times over, forever. It's probably going to be a lot better than having to do it all yourself. Think of it like outsourcing to India, but instead of a call center, it's your dreams and your money and defining characteristics. You'll probably sound kind of funny, like when you hear yourself on voice mail, but keep listening and pass it on.

And that's it!. You aren't you at all, but something being passed from one thief to the next. A dollar isn't the paper it's written on, it's the things it's spent on and stolen from. Likewise, you aren't you or a social security number or anything else, but the path that they take. Think of it as a long game of telephone in which the only way you can play is to be the misheard phrase itself, passed from one ear to the next, until you finally emerge totally transformed and misunderstood in a call center in India.

It's going to be great and in fact already is.

Daily Inspirational #567890: History, Again?

History does not repeat itself. Instead, it is someone else, as a sort of historical proxy, that repeats history, roughshod, (though calling this vicarious maneuver 'repetion' is actually overly generous -- it's more like imitation, approximation -- or even flailing attempts at meek intimidation).

That is, history does not play prankster by placing in the old time-road the same rock for people to trip on over and over again, but rather people tend to buy particular shoes and then to throw themselves at the ground while loudly proclaiming the rock's preternatural ability to trip us, secretly hoping that we will read their loud declaration as a cry for help, which it is, and that we will then see through to their intentions and begin aptly to blame the construction of the shoe, all rubbery and lacy and white, and that somehow this will, as a matter of course, so long as the right phone calls are made and letters sent, turn into a deluge of free things and coupons for the tripped, when in fact it was not history, the rock or the shoe at all that caused the fall, or even the person or the desire for coupons and great deals, but something else entirely -- yes, that's right, the future vainly trying to get a grip on the present. That is, the sense of history repeating itself is actual the stuttering of the future, never getting started, never uttering that first sentence. 

And what, exactly, is it that the future can't any more than even begin to say? 

Who cares? You idiot, we have to stop this thing! Its stutters cause bumps in the time-road, thwarting progress and assembly lines and everything in between. The arrhythmic jumps and brief glances of what might come next make everyone uncomfortable, uneasy and anxious about it. The future constantly moves it's hands around in attempts to clarify what it hasn't yet said, but all it does in the end or the beginning or the not-yet is jostle the frame we haven't hung but desperately want to.

That is, in the house of life, the future's obnoxious speech impediment is making it more difficult to really decorate this place.

Speech pathologists have little to offer because the future is too young to work with. Rather than feeling disconcerted, they suggest, we should be impressed that a zero year old can almost speak at all. If we keep waiting, they say, it will no doubt bloom into a great orator.

Well guess what, speech pathologists? After a few billion years of waiting, it's time to change the status quo. It's time to take control. Your 'expertise' amounts to just more of the same, the failed speech-pathology-as-usual rhetoric, and frankly, I think I speak for all of us, except you of course, when I say that we're tired of it!

Obviously, aborting the future would make it shutup already, but it would also kill it. The difficulties of finding a place to dispose of an everything-yet-to-come fetus is daunting and should be avoided. Where and when would you put that thing?

Rather, what we have to do is coax it into singing, a well known avoidance technique for stutterers. And we can't just send it sheet music in the mail or get it vocal lessons. No, the best way for us to do this is in fact for all of us to just start singing here and now, even louder than the future's stuttering.

If it's a good enough song and we sing it long enough, the future is bound to join in due to shear embarrassment. 

Evidence of Effectiveness

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Book Review: "Put on Your Crown" by Queen Latifah

Queen Latifah’s “Put on Your Crown” is no joke.

For example, it starts with sage advice from Winnie the Pooh: “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”  Obviously, no one is trying to be funny here, but instead deadly serious.

The gravity of Mr. Pooh’s conjecture, that people are stronger and smarter and braver than they believe, is a paradoxical idea not lost on the CIA and Military Intelligence. Rather, they are like ants in a sugar pile with this stuff. They have taken a keen interest in the idea that once you believe the Mr. Pooh’s claims, you enter a kind of Latifah Vortex in which you now believe that you are in fact smarter, braver, and stronger than you think, which is now exactly what you do think, so therefore you are immediately stronger than being stronger than being stronger than being braver than being smarter than being more than being forever, an idea not unlike the logic of known terrorists, in that they are also working with explosive materials, outward expansion of the human body, like balloons that don’t float. 

Working in tandem, then, Mr. Pooh and Queen Latifah have unlocked a kind of limitless energy gauge, or LEG, from which to stand on. What might Iran or Al-Qaeda do with the Queen’s LEGs? The possibilities are endless and horrifying. The government has generated reports and 3d renderings that display her LEGs draped across the entire Middle East in a fire storm of Strength, Bravery and Intelligence that should make everyone feel stupid, weak, and cowardly.  That is, the last thing we need those people over there to get their hands on is virtue, let alone a limitless supply! Virtue in the Middle East, perceived or objective, will literally cripple our military might. That is, it will be like them taking our LEGs and leaving us stumped with no way to ambulate.

And it doesn’t stop there.

We have to ask ourselves, “Is this a coincidence? Did Queen Latifah only incidentally team up with a small unassuming bear in order to create a limitless power source drawn from the essence of positive thinking? Is this not the logical, and therefore deliberate, conclusion of the best selling self-help book, The Secret, in that Put on Your Crown is a utilitarian extension of the manifestation of positive intention with unbounded energy bursting from its LEGs?” Whew, that’s a mouthful.

Listen: what we’re getting at here is that, "Put on Your Crown" very well might be a bomb that will explode not in real life, but in words. That’s right, it blows up in your mouth, not in your hands.

Is this a reasonable suspicion? No, we suspect that all suspicions are unreasonable because they are based on the idea of not knowing, though we can't truly know this, but not knowing is exactly the weapon we need against Latifah’s monstrous LEGs.

Here is an excerpt from Chapter One:

It was seven a.m., I'd been up since five a.m. for a yoga class and a vegan breakfast, and my first thought when I started that trail was, "We're going over that?!" This all started early in September 2001, when I booked myself into a hiking boot camp in Calabasas, California, because I wanted to quit smoking. I picked up the habit when I was fourteen and managed to quit a few times, but smoking has a tendency to creep back into my life, especially when I'm working or stressing. A week in a healthy environment, doing nothing but hiking and yoga, was my way of separating myself from cigarettes and going cold turkey.
This retreat was just a house in the middle of the woods. There were no stores around. There were no phones, except for a pay phone on the wall in case of an emergency. We all slept under the same roof and shared meals at a communal table. It was a place where people came to get back to some healthy living, lose weight, get in touch with nature, whatever it was. I just needed to be in an environment that was free of distractions, where I could focus on something besides my crazy, hectic lifestyle.

Does this not sound a little bit too convenient?

She expects us to believe that during September of 2001, she was hiding out in a “boot camp,” working with alternative religious practices, trying to shirk off her American way of life, dining at communal (ist) tables, somewhere in the mountains like a scoundrel – and that none of this has anything to do with the destruction of the World Trade Center? Come on, Queen, get serious.

It is so obvious, in fact, given these facts, that she was involved in it, that one can only suspect that she wants us to think she planned 9/11 with Winnie the Pooh,  Christopher Robin, Eyore, Owl and Rabbit while cavorting in the 100 acre woods, in order to push us off the scent of something far more heinous.

But what could be more heinous?

Exactly, now you’re thinking. It doesn’t get any worse than that. 9/11 is the worst thing that ever happened in the entire universe, everyone knows that,  so much so that other bad things are sucked into it like an enormous black hole. And that’s exactly what Latifah and the Pooh are getting at. We are Braver, Stonger, and Smarter than we think.

The only way to overcome the gravitational pull of the 9/11 bomb – not the actually hitting of the buildings, but the mental one that careened outward and started pulling in the entire solar system – is to feed it an absurd firestorm of positive thinking.  We are Braver, Stronger, Smarter than we think, forever. It doesn’t make any sense, but keep saying it, louder and louder and louder until they hear us in Iran, until it’s so loud that it echoes back and we can think that they are saying the same thing back to us even though we’re wrong and despite the fact that they already were and we’re just covering that up with our obnoxious yelling.  We have to unleash the Power of Positive thinking on the Middle East before they can do it to us. We might just be able to blow up our mouths, minds and lives in a way that reverses the polarity of 9/11.

That’s what this book is trying to make you think, but it’s wrong.

Why?

Because 9/11 sucked in all the bad things and made them go away.

If we follow the Queen’s advice and let her LEGs release positive energy, it will be like that scene in Ghostbusters 1 when they let out all the ghosts. That is, there will be an implied sex scene signified by the streaming release of pink energy beams and all the bad things will come back.

That’s what makes Queen Latifah’s “Put on Your Crown” the most important self-help book ever written. Because either way, we’re fucked. Now, put on your crown!

      

Book Review: "Put on Your Crown" by Queen Latifah

Queen Latifah is a beacon of hope for not only women, but also animals and minerals. Objects of all shapes and sizes and utility can admire her as a positive role model because she is more than human, and by that of course I mean less than human, while at the same time being human. Pizza boxes and lamps of the world, take note: your not being human has never been more human. "Put On Your Crown," a book by Queen Latifah is not merely a self help book, but a full bodied meal for the mind of the commonplace object and a true experience to boot.

The Queen has done so much in her short time in the universe (just under a paltry few million years) -- a large majority of which I only came to know upon reading her new tome. She may very well be an Oscar nominated actress, a Grammy winner, a model and a business person, but that's the least of it: she is also, more importantly, the complete and entire nation and history of Bolivia. This is what I didn't know about her and am glad to have found out. It's inspiring, to say the least, to know that history is alive today as much as it was yesterday.

That said, this book isn't about how you can become a Queen or a country, per se, but it is a book about how Queen Latifah became Bolivia and the secret Queen of herself. She gives out some very good advice to her readers, and really shares about her time as the Incan Empire and when she succombed to the Conquitadors. Obviously, this is painful stuff for her. Reading this book is like having a conversation with Queen Latifah and with Bolivia at the same time. Because, it turns out, if you talk to either of them, you are actually talking to both of them! Because they are the same! She really makes it feel like she is talking directly to you and not to herself -- not something easily accomplished for a nation of millions and a history of genocide and subjugation.

Throughout "Put On Your Crown," Queen Latifah shares her struggles with things like weight, success, extreme pain, rupies, belly aches, how her mother helped the students she taught, acolytes, nameless slaves, the way she let miners die inside of her, dealing with rampant destruction of rain forest, a long list of revolutions, and her twisted affair with Peru. As it turns out, she actually used to be Peru, too! That was a long time ago, but still, I am impressed. I am not even Caracas, let alone Bolivia AND Peru.

One of the anecdotes I really enjoyed was about the loss of her brother. He died in a motorcycle accident while being Europe and she was overcome with grief and financial burdens. But she was able to lift herself up by her boot straps which she borrowed from China. Though it was by no means easy, she shows how she did it through the use of diagrams and children.  She was even able to ride her motorcycle again too. This is amazing, not because Queen Latifah rides a motorcycle, but because Bolivia does. Had I known about this, I probably would have visited a long, long time ago. Motorcycles are like crystals when it comes to homeopathy. That is, they lift the spirit and renew the glands and give out great coupons. Next time you see one, talk to a motorcycle, you won't be disappointed. Rather, you will be appointed Queen of the coupons. You idiot, that's obviously not true. You won't be the queen of anything, you'll just get coupons.

Another thing that really makes me love Queen Latifah even more is the fact that her best friend is her mom, too. I'm also very close with her mom. I consider her my best friend too. I don't really know her, but her mom teaches art at a high school where the students have really hard lives and sometimes I sit outside eating ice cream after ice cream. The Queen tells how mom would force kids to write positive things about themselves at the beginning of the year and tell them to post it on their mirror in the bathroom to read while brushing their teeth and crying. This might even be the point of the whole book. That Bolivia has to do this but doesn't have a mirror and maybe we could fund the purchase of one large enough to see all of the Queen at once. I don't know: but think about this frail mother woman, alone amongst a throng of ne'er-do-well kids, and then imagine her squatting on the hardwood floors and giving birth to an entire country, with or without a mirror. I was so inspired, I actually did this too, first with a mirror and then without. I prefer without. I really admire her mom for taking such care of her students, so much that she became impregnated by the Earth. It is really teachers like this that make a difference in the world, specifically by adding the nation of Bolivia to it.

I highly recommend Queen Latifah, Bolivia, Peru, and her mother and the children. Also, I hate to ruin the ending, but it turns out that Camden, NJ is the crown. How the Queen suggests you get it on top of your head is riveting and I refuse to spoil it (it involves a healthy dose of cardio and a pinch of self-loathing).

If you repeat the following words twelve times, the book will appear in your spam folder tomorrow evening at eight:

This innocent and beautiful Queen,
Who owes her name to Bolivar,
Is the happy homeland where men
Enjoy the benefits of good fortune and peace.
For the sons of the great teacher
Have sworn, thousands upon thousands of times,
While brushing thier teeth, reading Post-It notes,
To die rather than see the country's
Majestic Latifah humiliated.

Daily Inspiration# 57: Self-Replicating Proteins? Murder!!?!

Today, feast on Angela Lansbury.

Daily Inspiration #5600111: Breathing Techniques

Everyone knows, or thinks they know (but do they?), that air is important. Some people think it's about giving oxygen to the blood and the brain and muscles and all that nonsense, or that it's about establishing some type of equilibrium between what is inside and outside of you, but really none of these things are important at all, or at least only important in the way that things like the ground and the sky and the sun are important -- that is, only marginally. And, margins, like butter, cause cancer, so avoid these things like the plague, or at least like butter. Which is a type of plague, only yellow.

Instead, the importance of air is more about appropriation. Getting. Taking. Having. People need an appropriate amount of appropriation every day, somewhere around 2 to 3,000. It's written in The Bible. People need to take, get, and have because taking, getting and having is a type of giving in which what you give is gift wrapped in absence and negative space, which is a new type of yes in a world of no, or at least a new type of cheese in a world of meat, or, if not that, then a new type of blank in a world of blank -- which is an even trade, so don't feel guilty. Shooting blanks never hurt anyone, and neither will sucking them in. It's all the same. Inhale, exhale: who cares when it comes to blank. 

Yes, so: pick whatever you want and replace it with whatever you want. This is breathing. Take oxygen and give back CO2. It's not respiration or magic. No, don't be an idiot: it's stealing! That's right, you are a thief and you were born that way, screaming and sucking at other people's belongings. It's cool. You popped into the world like a masked man performing a home invasion, yelling obscenities and grabbing everything you could get your lungs on. And that's okay! We're all in it together. We are all at once performing the biggest art heist in history, stealing the golden chalice of nature's plenty, one drop at a time. We grab what we want and slip in a counterfeit. It feels good and tastes fresh! 

But it's not good enough.

No, today, take a big breath. Take the biggest one you've ever taken. Suck in the nearest piece of furniture. Suck in a building. And then spew out something different. Make a change in the world. No, better yet: be the change you want to see in the world. That is, suck in buildings and then become whatever you think that building should be. It's easy, just shake and add water. Just blank and blank blank. Just heat to a temperate political climate and address the nation from your cell phone. Blank your face and open a blank account in the new blank.

Keep in mind, though, that everything has to stay balanced. Your blank account is a ledger equipped with scales that measure to the farthest decimal point, a placeholder that exists over 3,000 miles from your mouth. And the accountants at this blank have all the time in the world and more frequent flier miles than you can shake a stick at. And you can shake sticks at nigh on infinity, so that should give you a  rough estimate of about exactly how much they are able to fly for free and at any time. Really, these blank tellers are a force to be reckoned with, like pressure or gravity. So, under their watch, you can't forget to put a blank right back where you took blank from, unless you want to go to white collar prison, which you don't, admit it. Now, it doesn't matter what it is that you replace it with, just do it. Wigs, paper, friends, guilt, love, hookers, PT Barnum, knobs. Just blank it in there. Otherwise, the pressure outside will be far too great or weak for the pressure inside, or both. That is, you will either implode or explode or merely just plode. Don't tell me you didn't already know this intuitively. It's common knowledge and written everywhere, from children's faces to dogs' whimpers: ploding is inevitable, like blankruptcy, but it can be avoided indefinitely if you are willing to write checks that your mouth can't cash. 

Now: start breathing. Breathe big. Breathe _____ .

______    _______.

Daily Inspiration #560099: Just Fucking Kill Yourself

Sure, teleportation of data between entangled particles might be possible across vast distances, rendering old signal connections obsolete, the way dolphins make porpoises not matter, but we have to accept the fact that at the very same time, and perhaps for the very same reason, one twin and her twin can simultaneously go blind from an identical mastoid degeneration of the face and its muscles, without prior notice and it's all a part of the contract you didn't need to sign because you signed another one that said you signed them all.

Whats the connection here?

Well, don't you get it?

The connection is that we don't need connections anymore. We've entered the stage in history when nothing is connected to anything at all, but it all still works because who gives a shit, and that's the final connection!

We have established a more perfect union by disentangling everything -- by entangling some bullshit particles and letting two teenage girls go blind hypothetically!

Yes! God rears his ugly head and swooshes his woolly mane through your breakfast cereal and says, "Look at those cheerios! Are they not separate? They are! Are they not each their own hollow oats? They are! Like you? Yes! And you? No! Yes, and they are also one, a whole connected by nothing! Fantastic! That is, that whole bowl is a whole hole filled with whole holes making a holey Holy whole, merry fucking Christmas and to all a good night!"

Thanks God, you might say, but now my milk is all hairy from your beard, and hey, speaking of milk, doesn't all this dairy connect my oats in a way?

"Who the fuck are you goddamn kidding? Shut your fucking mouth," God will say, "Are you trying to poke a fucking hole in my hole theory? This only strengthens my resolve. Now comb the tufts of wisdom from my beard and see if you can lick off a little dignity."

Great!   

Daily Inspirational #5509412: Have a Hot God Eating Contest in Dog's Kingdom

Now's the time. “What's time?” you say. “What the hell do you mean by time?”

Well, imagine a non-spatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from the past through present to future.

Now imagine a specific point on that non-spatial continuum.

Got it? Great, we’re almost done.

Now, think of this special point as – paradoxically – filled with space. Finally, envision that from this “space” flies an “event” composed of many moist brown edible tubes that have been mechanically recovered from a divine meat slurry. Sealed in air-tight packaging for freshness, these objects go by many names – but only one word describes their extreme precooked rubbery essence: Hot Dog.

That’s right, you silly sausages, it’s time to mustard up the courage and participate in God's Hot Dog Eating Contest – it's the most important event planned for this entire year.

Even if you don’t win, you will most certainly relish the experience, because when it comes to eating hot dogs, there’s no losing – only winning. Winning and throwing up.

Please don’t even think about making excuses. If you’re behind on your work – ketchup. Or simply abandon whatever it is you are doing, for there is nothing as important as this "event" in your entire "life." It's time to get your mind out of the gutter and into God's ball park, Frank.

Look, when George Washington Carver secured patent #1,243,855 for a milk substitute made from peanuts and soybeans, he wasn’t thinking about completing some menial task to satisfy an unrealistic deadline. He was sharp-shooting for immortality – pure and simple.

So, go out and get your share of microwavable immortality at the great Hot Dog Eating Contest in the sky – or else.

We’ll see you there.

Notice: if you’re pregnant, always heat your hot dogs up to 160-70 degrees to avoid Listeriosis. Always protect your unborn children, no matter how ugly they might grow up to be.

Fun Fact: The earliest usage of "hot dog" in clear reference to sausage can be found in the September 28, 1893 edition of The Knoxville Journal:
It was so cool last night that the appearance of overcoats was common, and stoves and grates were again brought into comfortable use. Even the weinerwurst men began preparing to get the "hot dogs" ready for sale Saturday night.

Daily Inspiration # O - How Your Body is A Scantron and Why it Doesn't Matter.

Let’s get this straight, okay? Those tiny blue-rimmed openings

that you fill with grey spurts of #2 pencil lead--

THEY ARE not BUBBLES…

Listen, Bubbles Are:

A. Ephemeral spheres with intricately refracted rainbows skimming the surface emerging from the tired beak of a 150 year old sea turtle expelling its final breathe…
B. An accurate description of your mesmerizing, corn-fed ass and perfect, saline-injected knockers.
C. The name of that dog that everyone's best friend's dad felated that one time in that story they keep repeating over and over trying to get laughs.
D. All of the go fuck yourself.

Yeah that's right! Those things you fill in over and over again hoping really to fill yourself with the approval of everyone who's ever doubted you… they are in fact none of the ABOVE!!! Go fuck yourself.

They are merely ANSWER HOLES… and they have more in common with the bony pockets that struggle to contain your cancerous bone marrow than they do with the end result of a little kid blowing air through a soap solution draped over a fluorescent-pink, asshole-like, ring.

If bubbles had answers attached to them don't you think deep sea divers would be clamoring to reach the surface at faster and more dangerous rates, eventually obtaining total body omniscience as the answer's precipitate into lethal yet illuminating embolisms along the arterial pathways of their everything.

Well, it might not be the correct answer, but

that's the spirit!

This is not a test, sister. Stop living your life like the fucking SATs where there's a penalty for answering wrong, but no penalty for not answering at all!

No, studying won't help, just get the fuck out there and start filling in every hole you can get your hands on and/or create in hope of eventually hitting some correct answers.

Start with Grandma.

Business Scents: Entry Level Positions Are Never Enough

There is no need to elucidate that pun or lewd innuendo inherent to the phrase "entry level position." That in order to gain such elementary status, the first foothold on the corporate ladder, requires you to get into a position which would enable easy entry should be, by now at least, common sense and household knowledge, much the same as we understand innately how to butter bread or poach an egg, as if from birth we emerged with knives and smears and boiling wisps of white on our fingertips. And that competitive anal sex as a job asset is therefore tantamount to such breakfast trivialities only furthers the argument that entry level positions and their requisite maneuvers are humdrum and rather boring.

Rather, the truly wayward professional should not bother his/herself with the lallygagging associated with these old fashioned and outmoded fetish-to-the-top approaches -- if one is truly ambitious, one should be more concerned with gaining a removal or extraction level position, such that not only will you be entered but that also something shall be taken from within you. This type of gift giving may seem new now, but it is actually in the ancient tradition of making homages and offerings that our ancestors often reveled in. We should be so lucky as to carry on this bygone tradition by opening our orifices to the lowest level project managers and letting them pull from our colons meager trinkets and stuffed curiosities as if plucking winnings from a coin-operated claw game. And that's the rub, isn't it? There's little in this world that separates our bodies or our lives from coin-operated claw games. Shove something in there and see what comes out -- the sooner you realize that this is the natural and honest state of things, the sooner you will have a slim shot of maybe ascending one pay step.

Be creative: as you offer yourself to superiors, think of new and innovative ways to become open. What other holes do you have? What other holes can you make? If you sense that the higher-ups are having trouble removing a prize from you, don't be afraid to shimmy or shake a bit to jostle something out -- it will only flatter and enamor them to you -- and as you lay there prostrate in the extraction level position waiting for the big one, ignore all the others around you in the arcade. Their successes or failures in their own positions are of no consequence to you. If you see them bleeding or being broken down for parts, know that this is rare and probably incidental.

Daily Inspiration 954: Diamonds in the Rough

The silk of a spider's web is ten thousand times stronger than the toughest steel, and when piled together, taller than ten Empire State Buildings.

So, today, which one will you be? Steel and skyscrapers? Or wispy mucous?

Look in the mirror and say: I am the spit of an insect and I have become a long line of superlatives. Say: the analogies that describe my power are unrivaled and can topple governments. Trying to list what makes me great causes birth defects and palsies.

Say: What I believe about myself is stronger than the toughest steel, and when piled together, taller than ten Empire State Buildings, and geometrically aligned to the stock markets and seashells.

Daily Inspiration #88 - A color, a flower, a chopping block.

Listen! Look! Feel! yourself as nothing else but a pair of GREY pinking shears.

Scalloping the very air around you, you have become a fascinating tool in your mother’s overpriced arts and crafts wicker-basket. But, as you click and snip, remember that you are more than just a tool, and your mother is more than just a mother, and wicker is more than just the slender flexible branches or twigs (especially of willow or some canes) used for wickerwork , or the hard fibrous lignified substance under the bark of trees, or the characteristic sound made by a horse— you are the you-tool-device that “cuts ornamental openings in the body portion of fabrics [of existence],” mitigating the loose threads, your special properties have kept the entire quilt from coming undone.

Now quick! Wash the milk, mustard, and semen stains off it before your mother notices!

Daily Inspirational #2.034: How To Imagine Yourself

Today, picture yourself as horse meat. Imagine that you are flesh connected to bone via a variety of tissues. Imagine that your friends are other muscles.

Imagine your life bounding across a rocky plain. Imagine it astride other lives. Your horse-life is galloping and you are in part making it happen by pulling a bone or two this way and that.

Now picture the meat-you-horsey growing technical apparatuses. Imagine cables with wi-fi capabilities giving new information to the plants and the rocks.

Your life runs around, with you as a meager part of it, in search of sustenance while it electronically communicates with things that don't matter to you!

The moral for today is that you cannot be a horse or any part of it.
Lucky numbers: 13, 45.67777, 0.99999....(1), 0.you.not.being.a.horse.at.all.loser

Neigh!