I hate Wednesdays. I also hate people who call Wednesday “hump day,” not because of the content of the argument, but because every person says it like they came up with it.
It sort of reminds me how every person I have every met, once they get to know me a little better (to the point of name variation, e.g. nicknames, playful ‘Y’ additions, etc.) comes to the same nickname for me: Broccoli…ugh.
It usually plays out like this: “Brocy, Broco…Brocy….BROCCOLI!” and their eyes just light up, like they are the most creative person since Humphrey Belcher who thought the time was ripe for a Cheese Cauldron. (life isn’t complete without at LEAST one Harry Potter reference a day) And i don’t have the heart to go “wow, REALLY brought out the original water pistol with that one didn’t you?” They seem so damn excited about it. Alas, most likely the origin for my hatred of repetition, Nicknamery.
I have received a paltry few original nicknames, and I am just glad that we moved away from steamed baby trees. And the final irony of all, I am called Broccoli, and i LOVE Broccoli. Little bit straight out of the pot, doused with some cheese, that is just a bucket of delicious. I wish i could just hate the whole Noun in peace, every ounce of nutritious and tastiness, just bitterly hated with a sip of bile. But I cannot. Sigh. Now I want some.
Okay, If you haven’t done so, go to Tokyo Pot, for one: it is delicious, two: you cook your own food so you know it is good, and three: Dean. I don’t need to explain that man, you owe it to yourself to go there and meet him. He makes for a fun restaurant experience. Shabu Shabu (the art of cooking food in large pots as you eat it) is really rocking.
Also, I got into Japan. I applied, the country as a whole looked at my Resume and decided that I could be admitted.
But for cereal, I was told by my professor that the owner of ECM (the school in which I applied to teach) is going to contact me because she feels like I am right for the position. So this cat is Jay-Pan bound at the end of July next year. Never to return! Well, most likely to return, especially if I establish any sort of credible writing career.
So, to give my blog variance, I am going to think of a random topic each day, and just talk about it.
I think that this will be a good way to keep interest, stop talking about my stupid life, and maybe say something worth hearing.
Today’s Topic: Why are Polar Bears considered “white” in all popular forms of literature, written prose, and open, freelance discussion when in reality they are more of a cream color?
I think that this question touches on a number of reasons, some metaphorical, some literal, all of them most likely having nothing to do with factual evidence whatsoever.
1) Polar Bears, being prevalent in the Arctic Circle, are experiencing increased levels of UV radiation due to global warming, or the ever looming 2012 apocalypse. Polar Bears, being naturally stubborn and frugal, don’t feel like they need sunscreen to protect themselves and there is no record of a Polar Bear ever making a sunscreen purchase. Ever. Thus, with the decreased layer of ozone, the Sun is being a promiscuous tease with Gamma Radiated STD’s hell-bent on spread its venereal goodies. polar Bears, being sexually weak-willed and lacking any form of protection, fall victim to said sultry attacks, and suffer the consequences. The yellow tinge to their fur is a consequence of this exposure.
2)Pure White status is something every Polar Bear wishes to attain throughout their lifetime with a combination of honest living, clean seal hunting, and grade A goofy running ability. In ancient Polar times, it was prophesied that one day a bear would come who met all of the aforementioned criterion and turn a brilliant shade of Egg Shell. And gaining said supernatural bear status, he/she would lead the bears on a worldwide global domination, exacting revenge on human kind for their hoity-toity unrealistic expectation of every Polar Bear. It causes a lot of pressure on the population as a whole.
3)Perhaps a near-sighted octogenarian discovered the first polar bear and said it was white, and was completely wrong because….well he is near sighted….80….in the Arctic….and probably about to die…..as a combination of the previous three qualifications. Now all of the rest of us, being afraid that we may be slightly color blind, “say” that Polar Bears are white, because we are afraid to look stupid.
Whatever the case may be….Polar Bears are still SAID to be white…but not. And the rumor is propagated again.
“A Polar Bear walks into a bar….there isn’t really a punchline, all the patrons ran away screaming because there was a damn bear in the bar…get it?”
One thought on “Frat Pit and the Out of Breath Donut.”
Holy, shitin’ chilli dogs in my pants. This is the most gal dern best story about polar bears i have heard since the one about the squirel the alligator and the piece of bacon. I actually think polar bears are snow colored, after my dog pees in it jus a tad bit. U should think about bein an author, u look like u like to like write. Thanks to all who listen to Jim Beam, and Jack daniels, and my friend the grey penguin, i mean goose