the Idiot Savant (47% dark, 46% spontaneous, 47% vulgar)

your humor style: VULGAR | SPONTANEOUS | LIGHT You like things silly, immediate, and, above all, outrageous. Ixne on the subtle word play, more testicles on fire, please. People like you are the most likely to RECEIVE internet forwards--and also the most likely to save them in a special folder entitled 'HOLY SHIT'. Because it's so easily appreciated, and often wacky and physical, your sense of humor never ceases to amuse your friends. Most realize that there's a sly intelligence and a knowing wink to your tastes. Your sense of humor could be called 'anti-pretentious'--but paradoxically enough, that indicates you're smarter than most. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Johnny Knoxville - Jimmy Kimmel The 3-Variable Funny Test! - it rules - If you're interested, try my latest: The Terrorism Test

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 36% on darkness You scored higher than 52% on spontaneity You scored higher than 70% on vulgarity

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Someone made a joke:  if you didn't have dirt on your head Wednesday, you're going to Hell.

More to the point, it's now Lent, and I (for my own ingrained reasons) end up thinking about "Well, what CAN'T I give up?"  There's so much I do too much of.

Trusting that all people are capable of amazing things?
Should I give that up?

Thinking I can make my brain continue to accept more data and maintain instantaneous cross-referencing?
Should I un-believe that's possible?

Knowing that around some corner I can't see (because of course...we're dealing with a wheel here and not a polygon) there is going to be a better world for the better part of the people that have to live here? 
I'm supposed to give up hope?

I just can't see that type of sacrifice happening.

So I look inwardly instead of out, like I was supposed to in the first place.

But unfortunately, all the things I could tell yall that I'll be curtailing, quitting, forgetting about, etc. etc....in the modern tradition of Lent....

Are intensely...my own business.

Lent is a weird one for people that didn't grow up the same as me.  But check it: it's just time to do things a better way and/or the right way for personal reasons, and not for reasons that need to be explained.

Fat Tuesday at Phuturo was fat.  Ash Wednesday was lovely at St. Denis.  I'm 25% into Friday and all is good in my tiny world.

Big shout out to www.meetro.com and www.box.net

I wrote that on Friday.  It's now Tuesday morning.  I want to close this Firefox window, so I guess I'll publish this.  It's not too embarrassing, it turns out.

Hello? Can everyone hear me? Anyone?

Check, check. Check, one two.

Is this thing on?

Not the microphone—I mean my Electronic Larynx Implant device. Is it working? Hit the "Reboot" button, and see if that ook ook-ook ook.

Ook? Ook? Ook-ook.

Ook!

Ook-ook-oo—why does it seem like it always takes an eternity for the eli to reboot? I mean, isn't this something we should have ironed out a long time ago?

Oh. O.K. We're back online now? Good. You can all hear me out there? Great.

I'd like to apologize for the technical difficulties up here. One would think that the most important part of setting up the world's first talking-chimp demonstration is making sure that the P.A. is working, but . . . O.K. I guess.

Can I get a bowl of water, please? Thank you. Is the sound guy here? The sound guy. The P.A. technician. Is he here? He's in the back? Just as well. It's just that . . . you know how sometimes you get the feeling that you'd like to bite bite bite bite bite someone? Anyone? Nothing? Whatever. It'll pass.

Well, anyway: Hello, male humans and female humans! I am indeed what you call a chimpanzee. I do have a human-given proper name—something that sounds like Timmy or Jimmy or Bimmy or Immy—but, for some reason, recognizing and pronouncing human-given proper names is virtually impossible for me. So, yeah, all you skeptics can go ahead and make hay with that one, but I'm doing my best up here.

I guess I should start by acknowledging Dr. Female-Human-Lemon-Colored-Hair and her partner Dr. Male-Human-Persistent-Territory-Threatener for all the great work they've done with me—or, rather, on me—in the past few years.

The development of the eli was a long and arduous process, and there were more than a few times—usually after being shot with a tranquillizer dart and then waking up hours later with excruciatingly painful bleeding stitch holes in my neck and chest regions—when I wasn't sure if it was worth it. But I guess it was, because here we are today, in this beautiful conference room at the Sheraton.

In fact, there were some days when I felt nothing but the desire to bite bite bite bite bite everyone involved, including, if you can believe it, Mr. Male-Human-Black-Skin-Food-Bringer. Who, for my money, is the true unsung hero of this interminable experiment. This guy is the male human who not only brings me my kibble every morning but also delivers to my cage a metal bucket full of orange wedges every afternoon.

So give him a round of applause, if you would. Stand up, Mr. Male-Human-Black-Skin-Food-Bringer! Don't be shy!

He's not here? O.K., then. I'm not sure why he wasn't invited to share in the limelight today, but I guess we all have our different ways of doing things. Or something. Let's just move right along.

I had planned today to speak mainly about the similarities between humans and chimpanzees. How we're all members of the same family, and so on and so forth.

I feel like I have to take a dump right now.

But instead of speaking about the similarities between humans and—

Ahh. That's better. Dump taken. Where was I?

Similarities. Right. But instead of speaking about similarities I'd like to take this time to—

I'm sorry, you people in the first few rows. Apparently, my dump somehow offends you? Perhaps if I gather it up and fling it at you, you'll think twice next time before you wrinkle your dinky noses at my healthy and natural exudate. Is that what I should do? Because it's very easy. All I have to do is scoop it up like this and—

Ow!

Take it easy with the leash, Mr. Male-Human-Leash-Puller-If-He-Ever-Turns-His-Back-Bite-Bite-Bite! I wasn't actually going to do it! Sheesh. Why this guy is here but my kibble-and-orange-wedge-bringing buddy isn't, I have no idea.

Where was I?

Could I get another bowl of water, please? Thank you. Give me a moment here.

Ah . . . that's the stuff. The elixir of life, which soothes all but the most surgery-ravaged monkey throat.

Anyway, let's just go to your questions and get this over with, because I'm pretty eager to get back to my cage at this point.

Yes, right here in the front—Mr. Male-Human-Small-Torso-No-Threat?

Right. As I said, I am eager to get back to my cage. That surprises you somehow? Let me explain. I like my cage. My cage is small and manageable. Unlike your cage here, which makes me uneasy. Who needs a cage this large? I mean, come on! How can you be comfortable in a cage so large that the entrance and egress points are so far away that sometimes I think they might not even exist? With a cage this large, any random taker-of-food or biter-of-chimpanzees could enter at any time and take your kibble—or, even worse, your orange wedges—and/or bite bite bite you.

I mean, I know: your human needs are more complex than mine, because you're all fancy and shit. But as for me and my kind? Give me a full kibble trough every morning and regular delivery of orange wedges every afternoon, and I'm good. Maybe an empty beer keg to push from one side of my cage to the other and back again. And of course the presence of (or at least the promise of) a potential female copulation partner within the immediate smellable vicinity.

Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I am experiencing a feeling that virtually compels me to try to eat this microphone.

Ow! There's really no reason to go nuts with the leash like that, Mr. Bite-Bite-Bite-Bite-Bite-As-Soon-As-Possible! No one told me the microphone was a "Bad-Boy-Don't-Eat" item. So work with me a little—O.K., Mr. Gouge-Eyes-Eat-Fingers?

Wow, folks. I guess it takes all kinds, huh? Give me a minute while I simultaneously finish off this bowl of water and take another dump.

Ahh.

And ahh again.

Another question?

Yes—you, Ms. Female-Human-Copulation-Candidate, right here on the left. Your question?

Mm-hmm? That's an excellent question. But, before I answer, may I ask you something? When was the last time you copulated?

I can tell by the way you cover your bared teeth with your hand while your cheeks fill with color that my question intrigues you. I like that. Your copulation partner must be gigantic and have a virtually bottomless supply of orange wedges to have snared a mate like you. But I tell you this: one hour with me and my long stick, and you'd be—

Ow! Again with the leash! Always with the leash, Mr. Male-Human-Mount-And-Copulate-With-To-Humiliate-Before-Killing!

You know what? Go ahead with the leash. Seriously, keep it up. Go down in history as the male human who strangled the world's first talking chimpanzee. What do I care?

I happened to be referring to my termite stick, for your kind information. It's a sophisticated food-gathering tool? Maybe you've heard of it? No?

Figures.

All right, I'm done with this now. Take me back to my cage, please. asap. Yes, I know that many of you have more questions, but I'm afraid I'm experiencing a strong, unsettling feeling that the empty beer keg back in my cage is currently on exactly the wrong side and needs to be pushed back to the other side as soon as possible. So let me get back to my job, and maybe we can talk again another time.

Alright. If you didn't already know, Keak and E40 have made a video for TELL ME WHEN TO GO that Myspace has up on myspace.com/videos, which is a first for rap music. Rumor has it that MTV has picked up the video and that Summer 06, the Hyphy Movement kicks into some intanatty direction.

http://www.myspace.com/thedjriles posted this in my comments. I am not one of those people that has a lot of crazy shit on my page. And this video? Is 3 X Krazy all growed up. GET IT?!?!?!?!

..

Free video hosting, video codes at www.vidiLife.com

But that's life!

In regards to the clusterfuck that is the Setanta Channel:


Most of you have absolutely no need for this channel.

I already get the sports package on DirecTV so I can get Fox Soccer Channel and Gol TV. My fucking TEAM!!!!! CRYSTAL PALACE!!!!! are playing in the Coca Cola Champsionship this year, and never on FSC. They are on Setanta this morning!!!!

To watch stupid hurling/rugby/offkey soccer leagues on Setanta, you have to pay 15/month JUST FOR THE ONE CHANNEL!

THEY ARE SUCH PIKEYS I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT! Were any of you completely amazed during World Cup or Euro2004 when Setanta would ACTUALLY SEND A BIG FAT AMERICAN PIKEY to the pub that was showing the game you wanted to see, and she would be trying to collect admission on top of the fee that they had already charged the pub to broadcast it? THEY MUST BE STOPPED!!!!!!!!!!

"Medium" (for Sean) Alone at last, with eyelids closed   He thinks upon a higher place, Where nothing dies and nothing grows,   And hearts move at a mellow pace. His shoulders fall, his limbs relax,   A sense of ease befalls the room. No life, no death, and sure no tax,   No holy font, and sure no tomb. And if you had the chance to see   The hands that spin around the clock; How life moves fast, I guarantee,   Time had slowed to steady walk, As though a syrup had been poured   And torpid peace arrived to reign O'er those who cried out they were bored;   Their shouts were uttered in bare vain. And ticking of the second hand   Now seemed to start to resonate; And waves down on the sleepy strand   Rose not, nor at once did abate. A sense of ease, divine-like comes,   And troubles now are hard to find Hearts beat more like pensive drums,   And power floods our hero's mind. God and Goddess now are heard;   Voices share a common goal: "You've paradise, your ills are cured,   The Garden begs you, take a stroll."

Yes I, your irie new name is Vibes Fullpint. The Reggae Name Generator NOT FAR OFF. ARE THEY TRYING TO TELL ME THAT THE HALFPINT HONKEY INNA CORNAH HAS GOTTEN CHUBZ?!

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Skulking across the icy wasteland, brandishing a vorpal blade, cometh McDuh! And he gives an ominous scream: "I'm going to hump you until the laws of physics are violated!"

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