Pig-Monkey

Ananova - Piglet with monkey's face: "."

Here's a little something to look at before bed.

The Lake

It was winter; or maybe it was spring but it was still winter in Chicago. The phone rang and Dahlia’s eyelids fluttered open. She reached out and pounded on her alarm clock but the ringing persisted. She couldn’t feel the fingers on her left hand, which could’ve been a result of either the cold or of sleeping with her arm crushed beneath her body – she couldn’t tell. The phone was still ringing. Dahlia fumbled around her bedside table knocking three pencils, a plate and The Grapes of Wrath onto the floor.

“Hello?”

Dahlia stretched as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. She wiggled one toe out from under her comforter and pressed it against the radiator at the foot of her bed. It felt like the aluminum siding of the shed behind her grandmother’s house in December; something else to call Melvin about.

Dahlia cleared her throat, “Are you sure you’re shitting blood or is your asshole just bleeding?”

“Which would be worse?” came the voice on the other end of the phone.

Dahlia sat up and yawned, “I dunno,” she tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder and pulled the covers up around her, “It depends. If you’re shitting blood, you’ve probably got an ulcer or some fucked up intestinal virus, if your asshole’s just bleeding then you should think about what activities you’ve engaged in recently that might’ve caused that.”

“What if the activities that might’ve caused my anus to tear are the same activities that are so stressful they’re probably causing an ulcer?”

“Then you’re probably shitting blood through your bleeding asshole,” Dahlia leaned forward and pulled up the blinds.

“Have I told you how charming you are?”

Dahlia shrugged and slumped back against her headboard, “You’re the one who called to talk about your bloody fucking asshole, Asshole.”

Dahlia looked down at her alarm clock; 5:45. A soft blue whisper of sunrise was creeping through the two-foot gap between her building and the building next door, the building that in another hour a demolition crew would arrive with sledgehammers and sandblasters to finish leveling. The building where Mrs. Hernandez’s window used to be level with Dahlia’s and she would watch her through the blinds, vacuuming to The Supremes, doing her best Diana Ross for no one.

“Audrey? Why are you up so early?” Dahlia half-whined into the phone.

“I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

“Wow, usually no one notices their asshole bleeding until they’ve slept it off and sobered up. Mozel tov.”

“So, you don’t think I need call an ambulance then?”

“No.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

Dahlia closed her phone and set it back on the bedside table. Coffee would be necessary.

The air outside was thin and cold in that way where simply inhaling caused the saliva coating your esophagus to crystallize and Dahlia tried not to choke. Ice crackled under her boots and cars rumbled down Clark Street as they passed her, their headlights glowing in the dissipating darkness.

Café Toulouse was almost deserted; the morning rush never really began until seven. A nervous, teenage cashier stood behind the counter, tapping his fingers against the pastry case.

Dahlia pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and set it on the counter, “Café au lait and a cranberry scone?” she told him.

The teenager nodded but didn’t make eye contact. He rang up Dahlia’s order, took the ten and gave her change, “I’ll bring it out,” he said, disappearing behind the espresso machine.

Dahlia slid into a booth next to the window. Yesterday’s Sun Times lay on the table, ruffled, but intact. Dahlia put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She flipped through the classifieds. There was an apartment listing circled in blue marker that read, “Lakeview steal! 2 Bedrooms 1 Bath, laundry onsite, heat included, vintage charm. Only $900/mo! Belmont and Central Park.” Dahlia smiled, she knew what vintage charm meant and she knew that Belmont and Central Park, even by the loosest of definitions, wasn’t Lakeview. She shuffled the paper and pulled out the local section.

“Body pulled from Lake Michigan identified as Northwestern student”

Fucking retards, Dahlia thought as she skimmed the article. Every year some drunk asshole decides to skinny-dip in that glacial fucking mass and every year, someone gets insta-hypothermia and drowns.

The teenage cashier appeared with Dahlia’s breakfast and set it gingerly on the table.

Dahlia looked up, “Thanks.”

The cashier blushed and went back to his post behind the register.

Northwestern students are supposed to be smart too, Dahlia thought, turning back to the article.

“The body was identified this morning as that of 25-year-old Jacob Muzakowski of Park Ridge, IL,” Dahlia put the paper down.

She’d picked Jacob Muzakowski because he’d seemed so harmless. Because he was from Park Ridge and not from Skokie like everyone else she knew. They were fourteen and sitting alone in the pantry of the rec. center where Emily Feldman’s bat mitzvah reception was going on. Downstairs they could hear the incessant beat of the Macarena. They talked giddily about school, the teachers they hated, how they both secretly thought Daniel Polinski’s older brother’s punk rock band was cool, and then Dahlia had kissed him. Jacob was so shocked he didn’t even bother to open his mouth and she had to force her tongue between his petrified lips. Moments later he realized what was happening and kissed her back.

Out of breath and tugging awkwardly at each other’s clothes, Dahlia and Jacob lay down on the pantry floor. It was lit by a singular, naked light-bulb and the tile was sticky and cold, like the floor of a movie theater.

“I’ve only made out once before,” Jacob said.

“Twice,” Dahlia paused, “But they were both Mike Rosenbaum.”

Jacob propped himself up against a shelf stocked with pine-sol and boxes of trash-bags, “So, is he your boyfriend then?”

Dahlia crossed her legs and tucked her hair behind her ears, “No. He broke up with me because I wouldn’t let him get to second base.”

Jacob nodded still catching his breath, “I don’t need to go to second base. I like first base,” he said.

Dahlia smiled and leaned forward. She kissed him again. She didn’t even know what second base was and, in retrospect she was pretty sure she overshot it a little, but she liked Jacob Muzakowski and she’d already decided it would be him, so she unbuckled his belt and blew him. Dahlia had never even attempted such a thing before and the act was appropriately clumsy. Jacob came almost instantly and it was the first time Dahlia felt that taste, something between clam-chowder and Clorox, in the back of her throat.

Jacob pinky-swore he’d never tell a soul and the two left the pantry in shifts so it would look less conspicuous when they reappeared downstairs.

Of course, the next day Jacob told his best friend, Jeff Adler, what had happened and by the end of the week the entire freshman class knew. Dahlia ignored Jacob at school and refused to come to the phone when he called her house after that. He spent the rest of the year slipping notes into her locker, begging for forgiveness, but Dahlia threw most of them away without opening them. When school started back up in the fall Jacob had a new girlfriend and the entire incident seemed forgotten.

Senior year, just before graduation, Jacob asked Dahlia on a date and she politely refused. He called a few times that summer but Dahlia never called back. Graduation was the last time she saw him.

A few months ago Dahlia’s mother had called to make sure she was eating and mentioned that she’d run into Jacob’s mother at Target.

“She asked about you, Honey,” Dahlia’s mother said, “She said Jacob was at Northwestern now, working on his law degree.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She asked for your number so I lied and said you were having phone trouble, it never seemed like you cared much for him. Should I have given it to her? I’m sure I can look her up.”

“No, Ma. I don’t really want Jacob Muzakowski to call me.”

“That’s what I thought. He was always such a strange boy,” Dahlia’s mother said.

Dahlia thought about how her mother would recount this conversation now that Jacob was dead. She’d claim she’d always liked him and that she’d encouraged Dahlia to call him. Whatever.

Dahlia suddenly wasn’t hungry. She pushed her plate away and stood up.

Stupid fucking asshole, Dahlia thought as she walked home with her hands in her pockets. The sun was up now and the underbellies of the clouds had all turned pink. The ice on the pavement was melting and she shuffled her feet not to slip.

The construction crew had arrived and the jack-hammering had begun. Melvin was waving his hands out of the garden apartment window and yelling, “No construction until nine on Saturdays! I already told you mother-fucking cock-sucker mother-fuckers!”

Dahlia pushed her whole body against the door to her building to open it. She dragged her feet up the stairs to the fourth floor, unwrapping her scarf as she went. She unlocked her door, tossed her scarf onto the sofa and sat down on the side of her bed. She picked up her phone, flipped it open and dialed Audrey.

Audrey picked up after the fifth ring, “Didn’t I say I was going to bed?” she asked groggily.

Dahlia sighed, “Did you know they found Jacob Muzakowski’s body in Lake Michigan yesterday?”

There was a long pause. Audrey coughed, “Really? Didn’t you blow that guy when we were like, twelve, and then deny it?”

Dahlia flopped down on her back and stared up at the peeling, once-white paint on her ceiling, “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well allow me now to congratulate you,” Audrey said, “You’re the only person I know who’s blown a dead guy.”

“Thanks.” Dahlia hung up.

She thought about calling her mother but decided against it. She looked out the window and thought about Mrs. Hernandez and hoped that wherever she lived now she still vacuumed to The Supremes. She thought about Jacob’s painstakingly hand-scrawled letters and what they might have said. She wished she’d bothered to open them.

Batman the Musical

I think somewhere, Danny Elfman is smiling.

The Electric Pickle of God

Here's a very well meaning man making a very misconceived metaphor.



You know, I don't want to dog on this guy too much (lie) but I do think its funny how Christians and sometimes others, will take anything thrown at them and use it as a metaphor for the power/love/greatness of God/Jesus/Faith. I'm not too in the business of bashing other people's religion since my religion is mostly full of self defiling and lacks any sort of Sabbath or reverence of the kind, so I'm use to a bit of bashing myself, but I just want to put a general pointer out there. If you're going to commit yourself to a particular metaphor (i.e. light given off my electrified pickle equals power of God) then you have to accept the various metaphors that are drawn from the same set up.

A few examples -

One you're electrocuting a pickle. And since in this metaphor the pickle is suppose to be me, well that equals bad right off the bat. I think its a good rule of thumb that if your metaphoric representation of your subject has to endure something painful then its not a good metaphor.

Second, in order to see the light properly you have to turn the lights off (I know you could see it at the end, but I didn't set up the experiment). So, in order to properly see the metaphoric light of God in the metaphoric Christian, you have to turn the metaphoric lights off? Wait what are the lights metaphors for? That'll keep you guessing.

Third, sort of an addendum to one and two, but did you see the smoke and the juice pouring out of the pickle? Again, if God causes smoke and discolored juice to come out of the holes he jabbed me with I don't think I want anything to do with it. And maybe this is why he turned off the lights?

Fourth, the king I think really, in a set-up where we have been accepting your ridiculous metaphor you end by telling us "Don't try this at home". Sure I know you mean don't go sticking pickles in electric sockets, but I can't help but get the feeling that you mean, "Don't try and show off the love of God at home". And I'm like, "What? Isn't that why you just fried that tasty accessory to a sandwich? Aren't I suppose to want to try this at home?!"

Okay I know, its just a metaphor, but these are powerful things. And when you have some well meaning soul out there attempting to "put things in a way the kids on the youtube can understand" you end up with ridiculous things like electrocuting a pickle. Of course its not as bad as the banana or the peanut butter.

Things I Should Throw Out: Clippings From The Eighties at Bostworld

Things I Should Throw Out: Clippings From The Eighties at Bostworld

There are some great ones in here....check out, "Councilman Asks Feds to Execute Drug Users" and...best Family Circus ever...

Dirty Cricket Episode 8

This is the final episode of season 1. It's been fun, we're still batting around the idea of doing a second season. We'll see what happens. Be sure to let us know what you think of the show so far.



The Dirty Cricket Show Episode 8 from Jeph Porter on Vimeo.

White Trash Wedding

While we're on the subject (see post below). I can't quite figure if the groom is retarded or just one of those unfortunate folks who happen to be born next to a soy bean factory. I love the duality that is implied in this piece...fat and thin is like yin and yang...okay no.

The last shot is guaranteed to make you feel wrong inside.

Futuristic Brunch

"This isn't even real food! Why can't you cook it all day long?"

Splitsville for Arnold

There clearly is no summer lovin' in Tinseltown. Thankfully, AOL has made yet another time-wasting slideshow that highlights newly split, separated, and divorced A-listers ALL the way down to C-listers-turned-bottom-rung-of-society lowlifes. My favorite slide features Gary Coleman and estranged wife Shannon Price.

Times must be rough for Gary. Poor lil' feller can't even score a suit from Men's Wearhouse to look presentable in a courtroom, much less one that's televised for miserable housewives who down anti-depressants and bottles of wine on a nightly basis. At least the lilac-colored shirt looks cleanly pressed, but something tells me he's wearing white socks and black Sketchers.

Gary "stomps on the floor" when he's angry. WOW! Way to put those Sketchers to good use. Can't blame him, though, since he's irrelevant to 99.99% of humanity, and his insecure wife won't even listen to him. But, if he was screaming at my boobs all day, I'd probably tune him out, too.

Found this online quiz

Man. This one's a real nail biter - and it's tough too because, really, they are all my type. We've got:

- A black man
- A wash up A lister
- Some dude I've never heard of
- An "actor" that specifically was created by hollywood to embody the phrase, Douchebag.

I seriously think "the rock" is a robot. Someone in hollywood currently has the remote control to him and the in ear monitor for voice commands. Which gets me wondering..........I bet it's either Jerry Bruckheimer or Paul Verhoeven (director of the hits, Starship Troopers, Robocop, Total Recall, Oh! and Showgirls. He must be obsessed with robots and women. Which would explain his creation of Dwayne 'the rock' Johnson).

They're living vicariously through his "mussly" arms and huge biceps - because those guys are such dorks that the only thing that gets them off is explosions - or "Sploshions" as they call them.

The best part about this picture is the section in the lower right where it says, "See results without voting". I think i'll opt for that.

I honestly didn't see the results until just now..... Which makes me think that Jerry and Paul are monitoring the results of this quiz as well...


Now i'm really starting to wonder if they would have included Mario on this quiz what the results would have been.


God....................................the rock IS pretty hot.....Who in their right mind doesn't want an absurdly ripped version of Tiger Woods.

Saving Money does Payoff

Some lady in Munster, IN deposited two $1000 bills just like the above and got a call from the bank telling her to come get them. Turns out they aren't fake, just really old. Which means that even though it says $1000 its really worth about a shit ton more.

The rare but legitimate bills are from 1934 and are each worth around $4,500.

Lucky bitch.

I'm going to wait about fifty years and take my cup full of pennies to the bank and see if the value has increased any. I think that's a good retirement plan.


couple more ounces and I'll pay off that student loan...in a thousand years when the word penny is only a word used by sages and scholars. (via Chicagoist)

Finally, a Hybrid for the Country Club Set

I love the "Finally" aspect of this.

To be honest, I was sitting around and let out a huge sigh of relief when I saw this headline. I myself have been in the market to spend money on an expensive hybrid, while i'm already really crunching just to save money on gas. Would I bitch about my hefty car bill? Or about the 10 or so MPG I was saving on my gas fill ups? Now not only can I help save the environment, I can finally chat with people of a similar caliber at the local country club. Heck, maybe even convince them to trade in all their Range Rovers for one. I guess it's just for really rich people, who actually could give a shit about the gas prices, but want to appear environmentally conscious.

In a world where gas is being treated like dry land in Waterworld, the Lexus 450h is an island of its own.

Killer reference here

Somewhere, Al Gore is smiling. But so might be Danica Patrick.

Yeah, my guess is that she's pretty concerned with the mass amount of pollution those Indy cars contribute, so this is a good thing.

So if Danica Patrick (I went to high school with her and that's my claim to fame) was car shopping, would she go for an expensive luxury hybrid that is maybe a little quicker than the competition? Or would she just go for something fast with a big engine? Judging purely as a stereotype, I would think the latter. Just me.

High point of this article you ask? At the very end it calls out this correction in case you were wondering:

Correction, June 26, 2008: The article originally stated that owners of a Lexus GS 450h living in California could get a Clean Air Vehicle decal that would allow them free metered parking. The car does qualify as a super-low-emission vehicle, but the state of California has given away all 85,000 stickers that it allotted, so they are no longer available.

Damnit!! As if people who are driving around a Lexus need an extra privilege or don't have the spare change sitting around to feed a meter. My company doesn't reimburse me enough in free lunches or gas mileage to worry about such a mundane thing as filling a meter. I'm no longer sold. Go fug yourself, Lexus. (via Slate)

San Fransico Wants to Take A Shit On G-Dub

Leave it up to the liberal homosexual loving folks of San Francisco to do something so outlandish as this.

In November, alongside casting their ballot for the next president, the people of San Francisco will also vote on a measure to rename one of the city's largest sewage works the George W Bush Sewage Plant, to provide a "fitting monument" to the outgoing commander-in-chief's achievements.

Amazing. But Umaar pointed out the best quote, at the end:

However, Mr McConnell claimed to have only noticed two forms of opposition during his campaign so far. "First, we get people who say they just want to forget George Bush's presidency," he said. "Second, we hear from those who say that sewage plants perform a valuable public service and, as such, it does not make sense to name one after George Bush."

True indeed. (via The Independent)

Googled

Wired News - AP News

Google just launched a 3-D chat/social networking site akin to Second Life called Lively. Right now there isn't a mac version so I can't dive in like I normally would with ridiculous time wasting devices like this. But it looks interesting. Let's hope they can break the Second Life curse and actually get someone to give a shit about it other than the cyber sex.



So if pretending to be someone else and having a fake good time are the kind of thing that excite you, then check it out.

Architecture out of Control

Is it just me or is it annoying when people show off fancy new concept buildings? I mean its not that the buildings suck or anything its just that they are teases. Architects like to flaunt all these cool ideas that seem born of a sci-fi novel and claim that they will change the way we live, work, eat, shit and fart. But how come all I see going up are buildings that look like this:

Yet again, another example of why life is one big disappointment. It's kind of like seeing a hottie on MySpace and then meeting her in person. Doesn't always live up to expectations. Oh well, I'm going to go drive my BMW M1 Hommage.

Binny Hin...Let the Bodies hit the Floor

Amazing...simply amazing


http://view.break.com/532172 - Watch more free videos

I hate to continually rip into Yahoo's editorials. Well..........no I don't.

America's Best Places to Raise a Family - Yahoo! Real Estate

I don't really think I need Yahoo to tell me where to live my life. Nor do I need them to explain the simple fact that when you live in a county (or "township" if you will), that barely hits the dozen mark in population, you're going to have low crime per capita. Oooooooooh......no one ever told me that big city means big crime, more people, higher cost of living, more job opportunity.

Well, it's decided. I'm going to move to Noblesville, IN because Steve Schwartz and his wife told me so.

Just 15 miles north of downtown Indianapolis, they sell fishing equipment and rent canoes to locals like Indianapolis Colts kicker Adam Vinatieri and former Formula One racer Derek Daly.

"It's the best of the best," says the 47-year-old Schwartz, also a Hamilton County councilman, referring to the area and its quaint hamlets, low crime and desirable cost of living. "It's a great place to raise your family. It's safe, it's fun, it's affordable and it's growing."

I love small town minds sometimes. I wonder what his idea of "growing" is. Also, my idea of selling fishing equipment and renting canoes is now thwarted because of their family. What else is there for me to do now? I think I will either open a corner store or wrangle hookers.

I'm sure you're wondering what rounds out the top 5?

Ozaukee County, Wis., and Johnson County, Kan. came in second and third.

But what about 4th. Of course the article doesn't go into that.

I think I'll just go back to my depressing, high cost of living, in the city. You'll probably see me hanging weights from my genitals in an alley.

-cB

Bill Nye the Science Guy...whipping the shit out of Larry King

So I know it's lame...but isn't it funny to see a childhood icon talk to a walking corpse who doesn't seem to understand anything?



I thought so anyway.

Squirell eats a ritz cracker to - Huey Lewis, "If This is It"

It's a tough call. Whoever made this video is a genius, but at the same regard I think... "What a fucking loser". Maybe it's because I wanted to be the one who made this video.


Squirell eats a ritz cracker to Huey Lewis If This is It - Watch more free videos

Local man Does Something Pointlessly Stupid

Oregon Man Flies His Balloon Powered Chair Out of State

So every once in a while you hear these stories about people doing something that at first glance you think should be considered amazing. But then if you really think about it your brain does one of those things that looks like an old Charlie Chaplin move, where you walk out a door thinking there is more floor but its just open and you fall down to the ground. I don't know if you followed that metaphor or not but basically I'm saying this doesn't make sense.

A 48-year-old gas station owner from Bend, Oregon triumphed Saturday on his third attempt in making a 235-mile (378km) ride in a lawn chair rigged with helium-filled party balloons. Kent Couch flied across the Oregon desert to the nearby state of Idaho in a trip that lasted around nine hours.

"Things just look different from up there. You've moving so slowly. The best thing is the peace, the serenity," Couch said before getting into his chair on Saturday.

Beside the blow pipe and air gun he took a pole to pull in balloons, a parachute, some GPS equipment and some boiled eggs, jerky and chocolate.

I love that his name is Kevin Couch, how is that even a real last name? They say he dropped $6,000 on his rig, so he could hang out in the sky eating some jerky and chocolate. Damn this guy does have a point though. I mean what have I done with my life? I'll tell you what I haven't done...I haven't crossed state lines by way of helium balloon rigged arm chair. I'll tell you who has, Kevin fucking Couch.

Christina Aguilera - Dog or Baby?

So...........................I dont get it. Yahoo! has sucessfully led me to yet another useless article from their homepage on - "Why Christina Aguilera is happy she was never caught on camera partying, because now she has a new baby"

Wait... what about that time she was doing all that burlesque shit? Or the time she changed her name to Xtina? I don't really even know how to pronounce that. My Guess is it's alot like x-mas, but I always used the X because I didn't believe in Jesus. Now I'm even more confused? Since my name is Chris, would I just be X? Or would I be Christ?

Regardless, the article talks about her new baby, but she's holding a dog - "I hate working out...I have to mentally push myself through it. I get very whiny, saying things like 'I can't do it!' I can't deal with having someone barking at me." ........................So why do you have a dog? And is the dog your baby? I still don't get. Is she black or white?

-cB