Friday, July 31, 2009
Your humble narrator is pensive on this foggy Friday morn.
Maybe it was too many bottles of Thunderbird last night, as I wandered delirious and confused after an angry philosophical debate with a mongoose who favored Nietzsche over Kinky Friedman. Stupid mongoose.
Maybe it was that extra package of Hostess Fruit Pie that I knew I should skip, but which called to me at 2am with its processed imitation fruit fruity goodness.
But this morning, after I milked the alpacas, fondled the goats and fed the gila monsters I’m raising for pelt, I had to wonder.
Is the silly cartoon belt buckle the new signifier of cartoonish transformation of masculinity? Do doofy skullz create “post-human?”
In the age of the Hardy Plague, is it the simple adornment of this new form of “crotch signifier” that communicates the power of the masculine ass pear fondlage?
I know not.
So I chaw some more original bubble gum flavor “Big League Chew.” For that always helps my ruminations coagulate.
Smoot Operator
Your humble narrator is pensive on this foggy Friday morn.
Maybe it was too many bottles of Thunderbird last night, as I wandered delirious and confused after an angry philosophical debate with a mongoose who favored Nietzsche over Kinky Friedman. Stupid mongoose.
Maybe it was that extra package of Hostess Fruit Pie that I knew I should skip, but which called to me at 2am with its processed imitation fruit fruity goodness.
But this morning, after I milked the alpacas, fondled the goats and fed the gila monsters I’m raising for pelt, I had to wonder.
Is the silly cartoon belt buckle the new signifier of cartoonish transformation of masculinity? Do doofy skullz create “post-human?”
In the age of the Hardy Plague, is it the simple adornment of this new form of “crotch signifier” that communicates the power of the masculine ass pear fondlage?
I know not.
So I chaw some more original bubble gum flavor “Big League Chew.” For that always helps my ruminations coagulate.
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