Other

The screams of the women - they haunted him.  Dozens, even baker's dozens, of those from his past who just... couldn't... take it. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take the echoing shouts, wails and screeches reverberating inside his scull. These screams, these vivid spectres of the past, they were not screams of pain, or sorrow. They were screams of pleasure. Moans, cries and howls of pleasure. For it was his gift, and yet his most unfortunate talent, that every time he made physical contact with someone, they would orgasm. Hard.

High fives lead to disaster. Handshakes required an immediate cold shower, and handshakes -  forget about it. Even his moment of birth had been so physically rewarding to his mother, that she actually tried putting him back in.

His first kiss, his first hand-hold, his first sly brush on the shoulder - all these women had been instantly and embarassingly incapacitated the moment he laid hands. This, of course, meant that he could never make meaningful contact with them, or anyone. To prolong contact meant only to prolong the climax - too much for many to bare. And so he was alone in the world. Alone with the greatest gift, and the most unfortunate talent.

Don't: Buy from that guy outside of BTB at 3am. "This shit is b-a-n-a-n-a-s, man. I'm practically giving it away at $20 a banana, yo!" All this man is giving away is that he's a dumbass. You're better off scraping your peel for banana-resin and buying $20 worth of burritos instead (which is still a stupid idea).

Do: buy that cheap quarter from the guy who just came back from his hometown in Podunkville, MI. It won't be any discernible strain, but a penny saved is a penny earned, right? Your parents would be so proud of you.

Don't: pay in advance. You trust your friend, your friend trusts his friend, and he trusts his dealer's mother's new hookup, but somewhere along the line, someone's too full to give a fuck. Someone will flake out, and you'll be shit out of both luck and bananas.

Are you in a comfortable position? Good, good. First, lean back and settle into your chair. Breathe deeply and as you exhale, close your eyes and begin to feel yourself relaxing. That's it, you're doing fine. Let your thoughts flow outward from within, until your mind is clear. Good, good. Clear your thoughts, let them flow.

Picture yourself in a large white room with plaid and aquamarine polka-dotted paisley floor. Feel the floor breathing, morphing, flowing.  Good, good, you're doing fine. Now you watch as the walls are slowly dissolving. Dissolving like a sugar cube in a cup of soup - grain by grain, floating into the space around you. You walk. You walk, and on all sides are daffodills. 8-foot-tall, fanged daffodills. Oh very good, you're doing fine. The daffodills are softly singing to you, words which you hear but can't quite understand, words which lead you to walk forward, upward. You walk upward until you reach the edge, the edge of the end of the world. Good, good, very good.You now look out over the sea of nothingness, the void of existence, the emptiness of --

You've got a boner now, right?

                       Sweet.

            (Lady-boners count too).

Q: Why are whole numbers sneakier than real numbers?

A: Whole numbers are discrete!

A: What do you call someone who's trapped at the top of a castle?

Q: In-spired!

Has anyone ever seen someone play a harmonica and smoke a cigarette at the same time? I'm not talking "note, note, puff, puff, note," I'm talking simultaneous notepuffin'. Like, the smoke is creating the reverberations, you know?

How about a flute? Same principal, right? Wait, no... that's exhaling only, as far as I'm aware. I guess you could stick a cigarette in your nose while playing the flute, then smoke would blast out of each valve as you hit the notes. I wonder if that's how the earth feels when volcanoes are smoldering, like it's got a gargantuan cigarette up its nose...

You know, cigarettes are just too damn small. Forget cigars, too. I want to buy a whole pack of cigarettes, get them wet, and press-form them into a big 'ol rectangular prism, about the size of the pack itself. You could do octagonal prisms, too. Maybe a nice truncated cone?

Seems like a lot of work though. When are they going to make smoking easier? Smokers always have to buy new packs, new lighters, go outside, smoke one at a time, etc. Seems like by now there'd be some kind of implant that circulates smoke-filled air through your lungs at all times; maybe a filter in your throat that makes your exhales clear and clean as a mountain stream but still gives you that classic smoke feeling on the inside.

As an unrelated pursuit, I want to start drinking all liquids through my eyes.

Hey kids!

I hope you're summer's going well.

What? Not enough Garg posts?

Well, I mean, that's kind of greedy. You've had a steady flow of them for a while... but more??

Okay, okay. You win. This very Hawaiian Wednesday marks the dawn of a new day. Not just beacause it's dawn here in Michigan (on Thursday, in the Hawaiian future!!) but beacause it is a small part of a renewed commitment to YOU our blog readers...reader.

SO CHECK IT OUT!

Also, check out this breakdancing caterpillar!

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Maybe later.