Witty Retorts

I don't know if anyone even uses this phrase anymore, but if anyone ever tells you,
"Why don't you say that to my face," you should say:

"Turn around and bend over and I will!"

Get it? Cuz they're a buttface?...

Late Night Sports Corner

It's midnight on the day, technically after, that wretched singles awareness shpeel. Some people went on dates and stuff--good for them. I took a huge nap after visiting the temple this morning so I'm finding it a bit difficult to shut down for the night, so I thought I'd call on Mr. Sandman via another boring and horribly misinformed post about sports.
And what's going on in sports that's marginally interesting? Linsanity. That's about it.
So sure, I'll toss in my one cent about the whole shibang that has taken ESPN absolutely by storm, but only because he made a game-winning three tonight (last night?) that dropped a proverbial vat of jet fuel onto the proverbial fire that this kid has lit under the nation. I mean, six game winning streak with superstar-esque numbers, and some of us still think it's a flash-in-the-pan burst benefiting from the brief absence of established talent in Carmello and Amare? Are we all believers now, America?
I don't think Mr. Lin is going away anytime soon. Let me tell you why:
When I read the news about his game-winner tonight (last night), I felt like David... "Is this real life?" I mean, can the stars really align so magnificently for some nobody out of nowhere? The odds are way too off for this whole thing... It only confirms my deepest suspicions.

The NBA is rigged!*

These aren't basketball players... they're actors! This is no different from WWF or whatever they call professional smack talk nowadays. David Stern starts to panic from a lack of interest in a season that everybody feels wasn't supposed to happen. Combine the short and sudden schedule with the increasing taint of player selfishness and top-heavy star power in bigger markets (does Charlotte even still have a basketball team?) and Stern makes a call to all the owners, GM's, coaches, and relevant players: code Papale. Everybody make way for the spark that will ignite the fandom of the nation from their pre-NFL draft stupor! 

I'm on to you, Mr. Stern. For all my readers who actually read when I put the word "Sports" in the title, just remember you heard it first here. And I heard it first from Dave McKean. 

*Disclaimer: I don't truly believe the NBA is rigged... The Pistons and Spurs dominated too much of last decade to ever validate that conspiracy theory.

Just Thinking to Myself

There are so many deep questions I want to ask the universe...

What are possums for?

Why is my cat snoring?

How am I going to get two more pages out of this thesis?

and most of all...

Why does a guy with pastey white arms and no muscles and orange hair growing off his shoulders wear a sleeveless shirt to a church activity?

Book of the Man of Little Consequence

Chapter 11
1. And the man of little consequence was hard pressed to yet make an account of his life of little consequence.
2. But he forebore it, and knew that it was folly to forebore anything, for such was not a word. And he knew not the past tense of the word 'forebear'.
3. And the word was sufficient for bearing only the suffix, 'bore' for naught else would describe his life accurately.
4. For the days and the nights passed on, and he yet looked to the heavens and beheld not the stars.

5. And he spake unto himself in the mirror saying, "The future eludes me, my life becometh a cliche. How soon will the man I almost am hide among the stuff?"
6. And the new year broke, and the man still gave no account of the happenings up to this point. And the audience was vexed by his silence.
7. But seeking to give a pleasure unto the people, he began another chapter of silly mock scripture, but his inspiration waxed dry and he spent the holidays in riotous living.
8. And after the holidays he traveled eastward and spent his days in more riotous living, even learning all the names of the My Little Pony's. And he chastened himself for admitting such publicly.
9. For this the time spent from the last thought of little consequence was for naught, and he documented it not.
10. It is not to say that his heart was depressed within him, for he, being restless, did strive daily to be more of a tool, yea, even a tool in the Lord's hands.

11. And the man of little consequence was a tool.
12. And he began to document his time of naught as if it would be of some interest to his sparse readership.
13. And the names of the ponies were thus: Twilight Sprinkle, Apple Jack, Rarity, and Princess Celestia. And he forfeit his man card, and would thus be known throughout the land as the slightly mannish thing of little consequence, for he yet lived by the saying that all things are made better when deep-fried or combined with bacon.
14. For what man among you would take any morsel, even ice cream, and not think to himself first off of how the morsel would be made better with batter and bacon? I say unto you such a man does not exist. For this purpose, the slightly mannish thing was still slightly mannish.

15. And he gave his account, and the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon their fruit bats, and their sloths, and their breakfast cereals, and their anchovies, and their... wait a minute, I think I've done this before...
16. The account was thus given, and the new year was broken.
17. His life was a cliche and the future eluded him. The man who he almost was yet hid in the stuff. And he wrote in a chiasmus form and his English joy was full.

18. And he looked once more to the heavens; behold, a single star shone amidst the cloud.

*Note: Let the true date of this publication be known as January 18, 2012. It was only begun on Dec. 11.

Wading in Thoughts up to your Hips Maybe

You know that quote that kids like to use... it goes something like, "Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond imagination!" Give or take...

I disagree.

I think that if I was powerful beyond imagination, I wouldn't have any fears at all. In fact, I wake up every morning and try to pick up my car or shoot lasers out of my eyes at the sun just in the hope that I am somehow powerful beyond imagination. Then I try to find jobs and stuff and I am afraid of being inadequate there.
So what's the point, guy who came up with this quote*? Are you trying to bag on everyone for not living up to their potential? One day I will live up to mine, and if it happens to be powerful beyond imagination, the world is in for a real treat, let me tell you.
And stuff...

 *Disclaimer: If this guy happens to be a General Authority, I will look deeper into this whole shpeel and find the meaning. Forgive my ignorance.

Years Mean Nothing?

I've written on this subject before, so consider this another witness to how consistent my philosophies are... or rather how unoriginal I am at the moment.
Sitting in a waiting room of a children's clinic and having forgotten to bring a Calvin and Hobbes along to keep me occupied, I shuffled around in my car to try and find some reading material to keep me entertained. Wouldn't you know I had my old journals in there from 2004 to 2008, documenting most of my time in Provo and on the mission. I read a few entries before I had to put the thing down in disgust.
How pointless! How juvenile! How vague and circumstantial! I felt like I should destroy the two or three notebooks of handwritten events in order to destroy any evidence that I was ever such a terrible writer and philosopher!
Again it reinforces the idea that living in the present is so much better than wishing for the past. Even as I went to go pick the kids up from the very same elementary school I attended as a youngling, I hardly felt nostalgic. The smell of that place never changes, and smell brings back memories like no other sense, but it only twinged my nostalgic heartstrings. I am glad I am here now, with all the added responsibilities, expectations, and disappointments of life.
Memories are nice, but only to be remembered and not relived and stuff.

Cabin Fever

The captain of the "Soul" looked out over the foggy sea and mused to himself as a dozen cliches passed through his mind... They had been out to sea now for nearly three months. The men were growing restless and the rations were receding along with the captain's hairline. The captain looked up but this biting fog shrouded even the stars in the heavy dark of the night sky.
At least we're not going in the wrong direction, the captain mused to himself.
"Wicked fog this evenin'."
The captain was startled by the sudden appearance of his first mate by his side. What a strange accent the man had...
"Minds me of the time we lost harf the crew off the coasts of Madagascur on account of leaky life boats..."
"Stow it!" snapped the captain, "I've heard that a dozen times before. You're like a broken record that knows exactly when to annoy me the most by interrupting my... musings."
The first mate was a bit taken aback. The captain surely did love to muse these days. In fact, did he do much else besides muse?
"I suppose you'll be breakin into a musical number next about having what they call, 'cabin fever'?" the captain said.
"No, I was more just comin up topside to invite you down below. The crew be gettin ready to play 'nother tournament of Stratego and we know it's not the same without ye."
The captain thought for a moment. He did love the games...
"No thanks. I've got some more reading and musing to do."
He pulled out the pocket watch with the cliche picture of his beloved above the timekeeping piece. It was a strange watch... it counted backwards as if time reverted itself every time the captain decided to pay attention to it. Ironically or perhaps not so ironically, the watch and the picture were both obscured by the condensation which settled on the glass surfaces almost immediately. It could have been from the captains breath in the frigid air, but it was more likely from the heavy moisture that smothered the atmosphere. Where would she be now after three months at sea? The captain couldn't even picture her face.
The first mate was already heading back under the deck when the captain asked aloud, "Does not the wind typically kick up after such a dense fog?"
The first mate stopped in his tracks, "Huh? You know I don't know a first thing about sailin' or wheather tellin' cap. Should I have the men run out some oars?"
The captain closed the watch and put it back in his pocket. Once again, he looked to the sky as if the last few moments could have dispelled the shroud that hid the heavens.
"Not until I can see the stars again."
The Soul was dead in the dead water. Not even the faint decklamps creaked in their rusty rungs for no wind had blown for two months. The captain began to move toward his quarters with the intention of losing himself in his books for another week or so.