Dog Chases Tail, Disproves God

After careful deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that a dog chasing its tail is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. This would fall just behind old women falling over, and hermit girls admitting their feelings to the high school hunk only to have their feelings crushed when the high school hunk laughs at them. How could such a trivial ritual be worse than old women falling over and hermit girl rejection, you ask? Context. Why would god create an animal more capable than any other of experiencing joy, yet also give that same animal a predilection towards regularly attempting the impossible? The logic is so counterintuitive; it blows my mind. Think about it: dogs can drag us from fires, they can sense when we’re unhappy, and they even understand that chewing grass is good for indigestion. They’re some of the more intelligent animals out there. But they can’t figure out that they’ll never catch their own tail. How can tail-loving canines expect to evolve without understanding the impossibility of their task?

Ironically, this disproves both evolution and intelligent design. Surely evolution would have taken care of the tail-chasing dogs via survival of the fittest, correct? And surely, no benevolent creator would be so cruel as to keep tail-chasing an insurmountable habit of the some the humblest, happiest, most altruistic creatures out there, right?

So, no evolution, and no benevolent creator. Sad.

Not the Coke Cap I Remember

I was flipping a coke cap up and down earlier today, when a thought struck me: what do those seemingly random numbers printed on the underside of the cap mean?

After careful research (google search: “Conspiracy, Coke and the New World Order”) I found the real uses of the code:

#1 – An encryption algorithm the government is testing to ensure no one can break it, like from the movie Mercury Rising.
#2 – A secret military code used by CIA agents to coordinate covert operations. Why the CIA is using military codes, I don’t know.
#3 – The bottle cap machine at Coke’s manufacturing plant has gone sentient and is trying its hardest to inform people of Coke’s plot to take over the world. The problem is that the machine is communicating in Esperanto, and while it is the most widely spoken constructed international auxiliary language in world, no one actually speaks constructed international auxiliary languages.

$40

What really goes on at the YMCA after hours?

If you answered "wild late-night drinking parties with celebrities" you are right! When swimming in the YMCA pool, you can look forward to things like being slapped across the face by someone absentmindedly doing the backstroke or "accidentally" being groped by an overweight middle-aged man in the lane next to you. Equally as often, you will swim directly into something you did not expect to find in an indoor pool (ranging from a shoe to something marginally smaller than a petroleum tanker). This morning I found myself fearfully swatting away what I believed to be a jellyfish or small seal. It turned out to be a Solo cup and cocktail straw. Which can only mean one thing; the YMCA hosts crazy pool parties after closing. What else could explain the bottle of Stolichnaya I swam into next? I understand the allure of pool parties, but -- and this might make me sound like a snob -- the basement of a YMCA might not be my first choice. On the other hand, I'm disappointed I wasn't invited. Maybe if I would have splurged for the additional member fee I could have met Orlando Bloom drinking a strawberry daiquiri poolside.

If you are looking for porn, you aren't going to find any here. Yet.

This creation of this joint blog was my brilliant plan to ride on Daanish's coattails, because people actually seem to read his blog and have legitimate things to say about it. My reader base is probably approximately close to the number of people who find themselves routinely watching Wings reruns at 6:30 AM Monday-Friday (which consists of myself, and maybe a couple other people).

I know this because I have installed some phenomenal technology that allows me to track where it is being read from (roughly) and where it was referred from. My favorite part of this is that if it is referred from a search engine, I know exactly what someone was looking for, and how disappointed they probably are. So what I want to know is, why do google searches for things like "no one to blame for my own mistakes" keep being directed to my blogs? I guess the more disturbing of these results is why someone searching for "xxx older women pictures" would end up on my blogs. I'm not THAT desperate for readership. Maybe I'm taking google too personally but I'm starting to get a complex.

$1500

I spend more time in coffee shops these days. It’s sad, because I used to make fun of what I’m becoming. I simply could not make sense of how people could bring themselves to spend 5 hours typing on their Macbook, pretend-reading their textbook, or sipping a cup of coffee. They were, I concluded, doing absolutely nothing. Then it finally hit me. If I too want to avoid doing any actual work, I should just head over to the local shop, grab the best table, and order the cheapest item on the menu. Check, check, and check. It’s happening a lot these days. Good timing, seeing as I’m in school and all. But the extra time spent with baristas is not without some value.

I’ve begun to notice the artwork covering coffee shop walls. This artwork, I presume, is created by local painters, who have partnered with coffee shops to promote and distribute their masterpieces. The quality of the artwork is of no consequence to an unrefined cretin such as me. What interests me is that the artwork itself has prices on it. Exorbitant prices. Now, I won’t restart the age-old discussion of how one can legitimately value colored smudges on a canvass, but I will say, if those no-talent hacks can put high dollar value on their garbage, than I can most certainly put high dollar value on mine.

And hence we come to the point of this post.

Inspired by the revenue model employed by local painters, I will now place dollar values at the bottom of each of my posts. While other bloggers attempt to make money off their cyber-presence by offering ad space, I will make money by charging people for exclusive-rights access to my utter genius. Confused? Allow me to explain: If you feel sufficiently impressed OR think what I wrote is so retarded that you don’t want anyone else exposed to it, all you have to do is pay me the amount listed at the bottom of the post, and I will delete the steaming pile of shit I just wrote, and send you the only remaining copy of the post in a mahogany frame. You pay for shipping. And the frame. And I promise, I’m not using this revenue model because there’s currently no interest in advertising on this internet presence. I’m taking this tact because it’s revolutionary.

Ashley, you can thank me later.

This little slice of genius: $1500

The internet needs to lose about 20,000 lbs

There is an astounding amount of worthless information on the internet. It's a well-known fact that the average American maintains 7.2 personal blogs. In some states, the family pet has as many as 3 blogs on average. This is a disconcerting issue to me, specifically because I was always taught to get rid of things that were no longer in use. Didn't your mother ever tell you to go through your closet for things that no longer fit you or still contain shoulder pads? I think the internet needs to go on one of those celebrity cleansing diets where it spends some really uncomfortable time at the spa and subsists on chicken broth for a week. And where do the unused websites even go after we've trashed them? Do we put them on a barge like toxic medical waste and float them back and forth across the ocean to other continents, so they can be traded like a hot potato? I don't know the answer to that, but I bet the Salvation Army could use a donation of my personal websites from junior high school.

Coming soon:

• Intelligent posts!
• A mascot!
• Thursday!

Send donations to:
The Disfigured Hamster
Cambridge, etc.
USA