Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Mysteries of Life Explained
Courtesy of Doc Bunsen Honeydouche via last week’s threads, if you’ve ever been perplexed by life’s mysteries, by the moral, ethical, psychological and spiritual questions that haunt and plague the human spirit on this mysterious journey we call consciousness, this short clip will explain everything. It all. The whole enchilada in one 52 second clip.
Open your mind.
You are about to achieve total consciousness.
So you got that going for you.
Boobies: they must be lusted after, fondled, and made to jiggle in any manner possible.
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My gratitude is everlasting, O Sensei.
Of course
Fuck the big bang, this is the greatest moment evar in the history of quantum mechanistic stuff.
What a damn treat!
Quaaaaaid. Open your mind to me.
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Open your mind.
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Open you miiiiiind.
Art imitates life.
The pyramids, the Hoover Dam, the Taj Mahal, the Sistine Chapel, Man walking on the Moon, none can compare to this amazing human achievement. I no longer feel so insignificant in this vast universe knowing this video exists.
I demand an explanation as to why this isn’t up for an Oscar.
Rubber gloves and trombones…explains my last sexual encounter to a T…
That’s what I’m talkin’ about Willis.
And here we have the very definition of “jabronis”
Unacceptable.
She had no tats whatsoever.
What is today’s youth coming to, when a bikini clad big boobed wench doesn’t have any tats to express her individuality like everybody else?
I just lost what’s little left of my baffled mind watching this.
Yes. It makes perfect sense now.
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Female wears a mask, makes a spectacle of herself, comes in on a platform of wealth and excess. Male makes a loud spectacle of fake sexual contact, woman indulges it for the sake of the spectacle. Then leaves the scene on said platform as if nothing happened.
That neighborhood does not deserve a car like that to grace its streets.
Dr. Bunsen should be commended for bringing this work to our collective attention.
The usual fare of frolicking douchebags sometime viewed in this Sunday format, though disturbing and often thought-provoking, pale in comparison to this meaningful, if not groundbreaking presentation.
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We are at first, presented with the image of a sleepy lower middle class neighborhood, the picture of tedious, crumbling suburbia. This mundane scene is punctured by the salient entry of an exotic sports car, bursting into the frame with gaudy overindulgence and decadent overcompensation, exemplifying the significance of the event which is about to transpire. The female figure exits the vehicle adorned with a goat’s head, the classic representation of all that is vile and corrupt, but as the slide from the trombone is extended toward the menace, we are not subjected to the classic battle of good versus evil one may expect. Instead of the harsh metal tube, which could be used to bludgeon it’s foe, (to the tune of “Yankee Doodle” a popular anthem used to incite American Colonists to armed revolution) the instrument is softened by the use of an inflated surgical glove. Normally intended for a medicinal purpose, this glove goes beyond simple healing and is used, in fact, to pleasure and placate evil, in a provocative and titillating manner bordering on lustful sensuality.
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The duality of human nature, like the symmetrical breasts of the woman, is accentuated, and in such stark and audacious terms, even celebrated. We’re left drained and somewhat disconcerted as the emotionless driver coldly exits, bedecked, no-less, in a zebra mask. The viewer is left pondering their next destination, and feeling both compelled and disturbed that what took the ancient Greek philosophers lifetimes of arduous contemplation, is somehow covered in this remarkable video lasting under a minute
… and to think that at this very moment, there are people wasting their time searching for a cure to cancer…
^ Oh yeah, boobies!
@ Me 11:03
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F#@k,
A lifetime of research including five years in a Hindu monastery, thirty-five minutes of serious compilation, and I forget to enter my moniker and e-mail address.
^Bill Clinton always remembered to enter his moniker…
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*sorry*
If you zoom in closely you’ll see grandma, peering out from under the awning window, quietly accepting that The Alzheimer’s has now taken her mind.
I gotta learn the trombone.
Can’t recall where I left my moniker.
You are all missing the point of my work (yes I directed this masterpiece with generous funding provided by Yoko Ono), and the message imparted by the mysticism and religious provocation symbolized throughout the film.
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The idea for this film came to me while in the midst of a peyote induced stupor. The Lamborghini entering and the suburban scene represents Taurus rising, marking the vernal equinox during which traditional planting of seeds for the harvest began. Likewise, the bull carries with it Venus, her reproductive organs bound with cow hide, preventing seed from being implanted in her womb. She leaves the bull, symbolizing her abandonment of the relative protection of an earthly domain. Paradoxically, Taurus is ruled by the planet Venus, and the absence of the goddess in the carriage leaves it too powerless and idle, symbolic of the duality of man; the illusion of self and the reality of self. As Venus reenters the partially roofed vehicle and is escorted away to join her consort Vulcan, just as Taurus being partly submerged carried the Phoenician princess Europa out to sea to join her lover Zeus. We are brought full circle, just as the procession of the equinoxes bring us full circle through the yearly cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.
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The tune played on the trombone is Yankee Doodle, a circular song meant to be performed dal Capo al Coda, performed by a man who’s face we cannot see. Just as a sphere is the only three-dimensional shape with no face, the instrument directs itself and the viewer to the life giving spheres of flesh that adorn the body of Venus. Circular song, shape with no face, celestial bodies, life giving spheres: All symbolic of Musica universalis, or Music of the Spheres, the harmonic symphony of natural laws and motions that dictate the movement of the universe. Further, the trombone slides thrusts at the pasty soft bosoms, prodding them to release their life giving sustenance, as the Big Bang ultimately led to the seeds of life being created and nurtured throughout the universe in untold variety and complexity. The rubber glove of medicine, full of air instead of substance, attempts to nurture and cure life while tied to science, but only comes between them. Ultimately signifying nothing but an empty shell of cold dead skin, it purposelessly jabs at the perfection of life unencumbered.
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The song ends. The circle of life is over. The universe collapses in on itself in The Big Crunch as all matter is torn apart and crushed into its most elementary form existing withing one singular quantum state. It is the zebra faced man, the black and the white, the yin and the yang; that drives us to this end, and ultimate rebirth.
That, and I like video closeups of bouncing boobies.
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Mmmmmm… Bouncing booooobies.
Crap. Got the alternate moniker, forgot the gravatar.
F*^%!
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Where the f*^% did it go!?
F*^%!
Oh, there it is.
(whew!)
(whew!)
Tony Bennet may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I once left my moniker in Santa Moniker.
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Embarrassing
Of course!!! Why didn’t I think of it before!?!
At least the trombone wasn’t rusty…
This video made about as much sense as a lacquered cockroach butt blug
This video made about as much sense as a heterosexual congressional male page.
This video made about as much sense as The R. J. Reynolds Research Institute’s findings about the effects of tobacco (verdict: tobacco is delicious in rum cakes, or as a crust for sea bass!)
This video made about as much sense as toes. I mean, what the fuck. They just get stubbed, or ingrown nails, and they don’t do SHIT except make places for itchy shit to grow. Down with toes. And assholes being so close to naughty bits. Assholes should be on the feet or ankles; then toilets could simply be exposed pipes stubbed up discreetly on street corners, or under restaurant tables, and infants and the elderly could enjoy diaper socks.
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*I’m sorry….what was the question?
This video made about as much sense as reading sanskrit to a pony, or mayonnaise soda, or seeing-eye chocolate, or cancer in April.
This video made about as much sense as a Sasha Grey Disney movie. About getting gang-banged ironically by unicorns. In a vat of increasingly rare New Coke® while the Canadian Curling Team masturbates in unison sternly behind a Latino Bugger-Veil under direct supervision by Gary Shandling and TV’s Frank.
Salvador Dali would be proud.
Well, that cleared everything up.
@Jabroni Alejandro
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You are a jabroni
If your asshole was on your foot, you could kick the shit out of yourself..
If your asshole was on your foot, you could walk on Earth and Uranus at the same time.
If your asshole was on your foot, you could pinch a surreptitious loaf in your loafers.
If a woman’s asshole were on her foot, her entire leg would be taint.
Nothing to see here, folks. This is just a rejected Super Bowl ad for Playtex rubber gloves.
Who’s a jabroni? I would argue that your social origins, being sewn of a neo-colonialist empire born on the backs of racially segregated slaves, define you my dear Vin as the jabroni. Though I may be excrement, I can turn myself into gold through the lamentations and realizations of the unification of heaven and earth by the holy side-boob. My mortal coil of flesh and bone are but a mere allegory of the metaphysical attainment of full monistic idealism and nuzzle thigh perfection.
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You cling precariously to the casual power of matter, failing to truly comprehend the unifying conscious causality of the mathematically isomorphic multiverse of hotty coital engagement. You would thoughtlessly regard the moral evolution of humanity as a process which is there for the redemption of art fags and hipsters like yourself.
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Only when you pull your own head out of your poo hole, and remove yourself from the morally constipated City of Angels will you have the opportunity to realize that morality is the collaboration of the shortening of the path of suffering and redemption. You must deny all justification to metaphysics, and instead find yourself to be unfree in the world of precepts while simultaneously free in spirit. Free to mock douchebags, yet unfree to ignore their mockworthyness.
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Free to pee in horse, yet unfree to get pee on your scrotum in the process.
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You have come far, but you still have much to learn.
Son.
If your asshole was on your foot then you could more discretely scratch an itchy asshole.
If your asshole was on your foot then you could sodomize yourself by walking in egg-shaped gravel.
If assholes were on your feet then NFL kickers would have to fast before every game, OR fans in the end zone would need to dress as though they’re going to a fecal Gallagher concert.
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Sorry, I just realized I used “fecal” and “Gallagher” in the same sentence, which is redundant and repetitive. Sorry. I’m sorry.
This is stupid. If assholes were on feet then shoes would be called “poos”.
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Duh.
That video made about as much sense as this video.
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…happy to have it…
If assholes were on feet then when you had loose stools you’d have to tiptoe to the john; whereas with constipation one would need to jog vigorously to break the log-jam, therefore ironically constipation would be called “The Runs”.
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also, land mines would be doubly cruel.
Oh, now I get it.
This is WAY weirder:
I’m stickin’ with Tommy Dorsey.
Son.
Big hitter, the Lama – long
Okay, that’s it. I am not going to bed this evening. Thanks Boss (and Doc)
Doc Bunsen is a hawtness.com lurker. I see you there buddy.
the unifying conscious causality of the mathematically isomorphic multiverse of hotty coital engagement. Holy shit.
I’m not so insignificant in this vast universe to know this video exists.
What the hell was that? (As a trombonist, I’m embarrassed) Really, if one needs a trombone and an exam-glove water balloon to fondle boobies, one needs professional help. Or something.
This is precisely why the internet, trombones, rubber gloves, lambro’s and YouTube was created… BOOBIES!
After watching this, Paul Haggis leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, let out a slow flatulence, and smiled. The tension was finally gone and everything made sense.
My mortal body of flesh and blood, but a simple allegory to achieve complete monistic metaphysical idealism and perfection thigh nuzzle.