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General

I can’t feel my toeses

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After a relatively mild winter, Chicago has suddenly grown very cold. This is due to a meterological event known as COLDSNAP! in which friendly tropical breezes are pushed away in a swift and violent strike by nasty arctic gales, which proceed to move in as squatters on the land previously occupied by warm air. To analogize in human terms, imagine hundreds upon thousands of thuggish, brutal Canadians marching down from Ontario City or wherever and booting hundreds upon thousands of friendly, naturalized Mexican-Americans out of their homes, claiming them as their own. Horrible, isn’t it? And this happens every year, and often multiple times – COLDSNAP! does not discriminate among the various factors which can cause it to occur.

So now the Mexicans have caught the bus to the border, and the Canadians have come in droves, putting vinegar on their french fries and saying “eh” a lot. Some of them are speaking with French accents. French accents! What can a Chicago girl do to stay warm?

First, and this is very important, avoid sleeping outdoors. In the summertime you may see a homeless man sleeping in the park and think his lifestyle is glamorous or romantic. In the winter, it becomes clear that the man sleeping in the park is a frozen corpse! Remember: camping is for the summertime. COLDSNAP! doesn’t care if you and your family of four planned otherwise.

Second, try staying indoors whenever possible. This may not be feasible if you have a job or a social life, but if you’re sad and lonely like the rest of us, staying out of the cold winter air is the best way to avoid COLDSNAP!‘s icy death grip. If your building lacks doors, speak to your landlord; or, if you’re a homeowner, go to your local hardware store’s website and rush order one door, ASAP!

Third, artificial heating may be necessary. This may entail turning on your furnace or radiator, starting a fire in your carefully designated fireplace, or sharing a large fur coat with a naked companion of your choice. Remember, you’ve got to generate heat! Heat is COLDSNAP!‘s only known foe.

If you follow these instructions and more, you can be assured of a winter safe from COLDSNAP!‘s clutches. But don’t take my word for it – Bill O’Reilly, host of Fox News Channel’s “The O’Reilly Factor”, had this to say:

America's sweetheart
“I lost both of my feet and most of my left hand to COLDSNAP! Follow this advice and maybe – just maybe – it won’t also happen to you! Ouch!”
Metariffic

Blog blockage

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Some of the more astute amongst you may have noticed that I have not posted much in the previous week. Likely my regular readers, all five or six of you, have theorized that I have been taking a short break, or simply haven’t had time to write anything down, what with my recent hectic schedule.

I assure everyone that neither of these things are the case. The truth is that every night I sit down to write and can’t think of a blessed thing. I try to come up with a topic, an angle. It’s not that my mind goes blank, it’s just that I start to conceive things that I have already written.

I’ve been doing this blog thing for about a year and a half now, and in that time I think I’ve covered pretty much everything there is to possibly talk about. I have taken on politics with my uncanny predictions for the first few years of the Bush presidency. I’ve tackled the heartbreak of masculinity with two articles on facial hair, with myself as the subject. I have discussed the various positives and negatives of such famous festivals as Mardi Gras. I’ve offered up serious literary criticism. I’ve covered the sensitive issue of race on at least two different occasions. I’ve supplied my readership with sensitive fiction. I have skewered society’s adoration of reality television. I’ve given my take on that age-old macguffin, religion. I’ve told amusing personal anecdotes. Why, I even added Vince to the Lucubus team to stir things up.

The boys in BNL said it best: it’s all been done. The Lucubus has, as they say in the industry, “jumped the shark“. Oh, I’m sure I’ll keep plugging away, trying to come up with a clever phrase that I have not typed, or a mundane event in my life that I have not added a fancy fake surreal twist to, or an acquaintance whom I have not posted a picture of, or a link to some other more interesting site I have not yet advertised; but from here on out, I make no guarantees.

The Lucubus: it’s all downhill from here.

Fictishy

Intelligence: affirmed

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I took the GRE early yesterday morning. Strangely enough, the test center was downtown, about two buildings away from where I served jury duty about a month ago. But this time, I would be doing no judging. Indeed, it was *I* who would be judged.

I entered the building, and the attendant in the lobby told me I was required to check in. I signed my name to the log in the appropriate place. “You may proceed,” announced the attendant. Behind him, vast sliding doors opened, and I stepped onto a large platform which began to rise as soon as I stepped inside.

After a few seconds of upwards inertia, I stepped out into a rectangular white room filled with people from all walks of life. I stepped over to the receptionist, an attractive Latina wearing a red polyester space suit with a butterfly collar.

“I am here for the GRE,” I said.

“Excellent,” she replied.

She handed me a clipboard with a form which I was to complete, to verify that I would be the one taking the test, and not some partner-in-crime masquerading as me. To this end, there were blanks on the form in which I was to include my date of birth, my social security number, my thumbprint, blood and urine samples, and the cup size of the first girl I ever kissed.

Eventually, I finished filling out the exhausting forms, and returned them to the receptionist, whose suit was unzipped to a few inches lower than where it had been previously. Catching me eyeing her, she said defensively, “This material doesn’t breathe.”

I returned to a seat alongside all the other people who were there for testing. I learned by overhearing various conversations that the GRE was far from the only test being offered that day. This was verified by the fact that one by one, various official-looking people in red polyester space suits identical to the receptionist’s came out and called people’s names. The people were to get up, put their things into lockers, and follow the official-looking person down the hallway into a room containing lord knows what.

Finally, my name was called along with those in the last group. I was instructed to remove my wallet, watch, keys, and belly chain and put them into a locker. There were about five of us in the group, and we were led down the hall into a large metal chamber, which appeared to be some sort of airlock or decontamination room. Along one wall hung five silver jumpsuits. Suddenly, we heard a voice over a loudspeaker. It was that of the official who had led us down the hall, who, we realized, was not alongside us in the chamber. “Please remove all of your clothing and put on the test-taking apparel,” the official said. “Remember, every move you make is being recorded, so we will know if you leave on your underwear.”

The five of us stood there, briefly wondering for a moment if there would be any separate-gender locker rooms available. But no, it was intended that we would change together. “The GRE is not a time to be bashful,” we reasoned, as we doffed our casual attire and donned the futuristic testing garb, which, as it happens, was made by FUBU. “Nice tattoo,” whispered the cute brunette who changed near me, obviously referring to the stylized Bronson Pinchot head on my left buttock. I nodded in acknowledgement of her remark. It occurred to me later that she may have been flirting with me, but at the time I was too nervous about the test.

Finally, clad in our silver jumpsuits, we were led into a room with five computers. We each took a seat at the computers and for the next four hours were subjected to several series of questions dealing with matters verbal, quantitative, and analytical. After I completed the battery of questions, my final results were displayed, and a broad grin crept across my face.

That which I had questioned had now been proven: I am smarter than you.

Health and Body, Lucacentric

Cut me some slack

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Well, this is really stupid. A few days ago, I noticed that I had a giant hangnail on my index finger. Did I do anything about it? No, because I am very Manly and am able to ignore such a pain as trifling as a hangnail.

Today at work, in the course of my daily routines, shuffling through papers and books and whatnot, I got a nasty papercut on the ring finger of the same hand. What did I do? I licked it a few times and forgot about it.

Later in the day, I had a slight run-in with a book return cart. Nothing serious, but it meant that I had a second small cut on the ring finger of the same hand.

It began to bleed. The papercut, which had previously ceased to bleed, began to bleed once more. Then, the hangnail TWO WHOLE FINGERS OVER started to bleed.

When I got home from work, I cut off the hangnail and went to go wash out my cuts and put bandages on them. For even though I am Manly I wish to prevent infection where possible.

As I opened the medicine cabinet door, its bottom metal corner swung right across the top of my forearm – the same arm as the hand with the cuts – and resulted in a large gash, from which blood began to ooze.

“Give me a break,” I said. “Give me a break.”

Little Things

More news to come at the top of the hour

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  • Boxer briefs: the perfect compromise!
  • Lots of good shows are on television!
  • Pizza is good, but have you tried cheeseburger pizza?
  • Doritos make you fart! Or at least, they make me fart!
  • Super Mario Bros.: a *classic* video game!
  • The Winter Olympics are certainly full of talented athletes!
  • Comics aren’t just for kids anymore!
  • Did you know that there are other kinds of videotape besides VHS?
  • Jewish people don’t believe in Jesus!
  • For fast internet service, try cable!
  • You know who’s really stylish? Gay folks!
  • With ‘emoticons’ you can express yourself without words!
  • Dick Cheney is a knife-wielding maniac!
General

NU announces plans to fill in Lake Michigan

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Filled in lake “welcome”, administrators say

By Lucas Hackett
The Daily Heywestern

Northwestern University administrators today revealed plans to fill Lake Michigan with concrete in order to facilitate expansion for the crowded campus, and also because their disdain for nature has not been emphasized enough in the past.

Lake Michigan to be filled in
Plans released today by NU administration include filling in the whole stupid lake.

“This campus is running out of room,” said Senior Vice President for Business and Finance Eugene Starshine, his shifty eyes darting back and forth. “In order for us to remain competitive with other similar-sized universities, we’re going to have to fill in Lake Michigan. All of it.”

When asked why such a drastic step was necessary, Starshine replied, “It isn’t necessary at all. It is much, much more land than we will ever conceivably need. But it is good to have it there just in case. And besides, we hate the students and they seem to like the lake, so we figured this would piss them off.”

University President Henry Zienen concurred. “Every decision this university makes is determined by money. Except this one. This one is motivated by pure contempt, for the land and for the student body.”

“I always hated that fucking lake,” he added.

Student reactions have ranged from complaining online in the privacy of their dorm rooms to holding protest rallies in various widely-traveled areas of campus. One such rally was held on the library plaza.

hey hey, ho ho
Students respond to the university’s plans with a rally.
Over 25 people were in attendance.

Jenny Pigeon, a Weinberg freshman, was among those present at the rally. “Wow,” she said. “I mean, it said in all the prospective student pamphlets that the administration was evil, but this is totally like Satan evil.”

Rich Bundle, a Speech alumnus, turned up at the rally as well. “I think it is the right of every student at this school to experience the campus exactly as I experienced it, as a student here ten years ago. The lake wasn’t filled in then, and it shouldn’t be filled in now. Also, they should tear down all of these new fucking buildings, because they weren’t here either.”

He continued, “Luckily, I was able to come here today because I have no job.”

Cory Mudge, a Speech senior, was among those who organized the rally. “They announced these plans less than three weeks before they were going to begin filling the lake in. That’s no way to do a press release!”

“It’s not about whether filling in the lake is a good or bad thing,” Mudge summed up. “It’s about getting the students involved in the decision to fill in the lake.”

When asked for a response, university officials cackled ruthlessly and raised tuition by several thousand dollars.

Health and Body, Lucacentric

Valentine’s day: love and tits

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Today is Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day is the one day each year which we set aside for purposefully expressing to those we love how much we love them by buying them adorable and/or vaguely smutty Hallmark? cards. Unfortunately, every time I set foot into a Hallmark? store, I inevitably end up hovering in front of the Precious Moments? display case, hypnotized by their evil, spiralling eyes. My blood slowly begins to boil in a murderous rage, and at this point I either purchase a lilac-scented machine gun and go mow down the customers and employees at the Chick-Fil-A next door, after which I am taken out by police snipers, or my face contorts into a violent grimace as I smash the cases and everything in the immediate radius with my bare fists, and soon I bleed to death from the resultant severed arteries. So, needless to say, I avoid Hallmark? stores whenever possible. Happily, I am a bitter, hateful person who loves nobody, so it is not much of a problem.

Therefore, today, while others were thinking of the feeling of love in their hearts, I was thinking about the feeling of pain in my right tit.

I know what you’re thinking. “You are a man. What know you of tit pain?” Well, I’m not claiming to suffer from a broken back from double Ds or bruises on my face and stomach from running down a flight of stairs without proper support. Nay, support has nothing to do with the nature of my complaint. Nevertheless, pain is pain, tits are tits, and in the case of men the best verification that one indeed has tits is to have pain in one. While getting out of my van yesterday after work, I misjudged the distance from my stylish faux-leather satchel to my body, and as I stepped out, I pulled the bag toward myself, thinking to put it over my shoulder, but instead clobbering my right tit with a great deal of force ? at least, a great deal of force relative to the average amount of force at which tits are ordinarily clobbered.

“Ow! My tit!” I hollered, attracting the attention of old ladies and small children at play in the middle of the street. As I had their attention I figured I would make a show of it, so I did a little dance of pain, jumping, spinning, rubbing my sore tit. Later that night, as I lay in bed, I dreamed that I was at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta and that the female gymnasts were using my right tit as a springboard for the pommel horse. “Dammit, Dominique Moceanu, stop jumping on my tit!” I woke up screaming.

I knew I should have called in sick to work today. This afternoon, as my brain was ordering white blood cells by the thousands to my right tit in order to fight off the dull pain that remained ? apparently to the point where all of my other motor functions were slowed ? I ran smack-dab into somebody. In fairness to my brain, the corridors in the office where I work were laid out by Frank Lloyd Wrong, the eccentric sadist architect. However, this mitigation was unhelpful, because the person I ran into was smaller than I, and the point of impact on her body was her shoulder, and the point of impact on my body was ? wait for it ? my right tit.

“Ow! My tit!” I hollered, for the second time in as many days. Like a leaky bucket that has been refilled just before the water all runs out the bottom, the pain had returned to my tit. The woman was very apologetic, but it was not her fault. I explained to her that I had been very careless about my tits lately, or at least just the one. She nodded understandingly and rushed off to call building security.

As I write this, I have a frozen steak on my tit, hoping to keep the swelling down. I went shopping on Amazon for a protective chainmail sports bra, but boy, is THAT place ever misnamed.

Happy Valentine’s Day, from the very bottom of my tit.

General
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Never forget

Cruel, cruel world. They’ve killed the butterflies.

Somewhere between 250 million and 270 million butterflies were killed in a freak Mexican snowstorm. Millions and millions of butterflies carpeted the Mexican ground in a beautiful sonata of symmetrical frozen death. Tell me, where is your god now?

I tell you, he’s in Mexico dancing on butterfly corpses!

Religiance

By the time I get to Arizona

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That’s it. I am going to settle this church and state debate once and for all.

Apparently, some legislators over in Arizona, in a surge of national pride, introduced a bill which would encourage every Arizona school to display the phrase “In God We Trust” in every conceivable location which a child’s wandering line of sight might find. But I am paraphrasing. From the bill itself:

THE WORDS “IN GOD WE TRUST” SHALL BE DISPLAYED IN EACH CLASSROOM, SCHOOL AUDITORIUM AND SCHOOL CAFETERIA ON AN APPROPRIATELY FRAMED BACKGROUND WITH MINIMUM DIMENSIONS OF AT LEAST ELEVEN INCHES BY FOURTEEN INCHES.

The legislators appear to want to use this phrase to inspire patriotism in the heart of every child, and, by extension, unite us all in our war against the browner peoples of the earth. Why this particular phrase, I have to wonder? Why is it patriotic? Because it shows up on coins? Because it’s buried somewhere in the national anthem, in the fourth verse, which nobody ever knows the words to?

The surface argument against displaying the phrase all over God’s creation is that it is insensitive to assume that everyone trusts in God, and this argument should be compelling enough on its own to make the legislators think twice about what they are trying to do. Even a person who believes in the existence of God might not necessarily trust in God, or may only to the extent that they are confident that he will fuck them over.

But these legislators are trying to link the phrase to patriotism, to American history.

What do we mean when we say “in God we trust”? In God we trust. We trust in God. We believe in God. We have faith that God will deliver.

And in the context of America? “We have faith that God will come and take care of our shit, while simultaneously making it difficult or impossible for the people we don’t like or don’t care about to accomplish their shit.” If that’s too harsh, then perhaps: “We are confident that the master of all existence is going to guide America with a shining light into a glorious future, one in which America is economically and technologically superior to all other nations, and preferably without abortion clinics.” Well, there I go again. But needless to say, I think that the feeling this phrase generates (and the motivation to use it) is not patriotism at all, but arrogance, selfishness, and isolationism. But I suppose that these are the characteristics by which patriotism is defined, which is an unfortunate reality.

Let’s leave God alone. He’s got enough to worry about, with dozens upon dozens of nations and religious factions all over the world claiming him for their team. And since he is God, he can be on everybody’s side; but what would the point of that be? So I’m guessing he doesn’t bother. Besides, everyone knows that God’s primary interests nowadays lie in nanofabrication. (It says so right there in the Bible. The new one. The one that came out in January. Don’t you have a subscription?)

I honestly don’t mean to offend anyone who lives by the phrase. But to trust in God is a personal choice – as is *not* to trust in God – and to install the phrase on classroom walls smacks of propagandism, of a governing body that wants its youth to grow up loving a country without ever understanding the reasons for loving it.

Besides, the project would likely be counterproductive anyway. When I served on jury duty a couple weeks back, one of the first things I noticed about the courtroom were the words “In God We Trust” displayed in large letters on the wall. If there’s as much slow time at school as there was in that jury box, the students are going to do what I did and start rearranging the letters in their minds to spell out funny new phrases such as TONGUED WRIST, UNSORTED WIG, UNDERGO TWIST, URGED TIT SNOW, WINGED TROUT, and of course, TOWERING STUD.

In fact, that would probably make a better (at least, more honest) classroom wall motto.

AMERICA: TOWERING STUD.

General
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2002 Daily Hey Oscar Picks

Apparently the Academy Award nominations are going to be announced tomorrow, so I thought I would jump in there first with a few Oscar nominations of my own.

Best Picture: “Oscar and Lucinda”
Best Director: John Landis, “Oscar”
Best Gay Playwright: Oscar Wilde
Best Luncheon Meat: Oscar Mayer
Best Can-Dwelling Monster: Oscar the Grouch
Best Half of “The Odd Couple”: Oscar Madison
Best Walter Matthau Role: Oscar Madison
Best Jack Klugman Role: Quincy (come on)
Best Character from “Ghostbusters 2″: Baby Oscar
Best Boxer: Oscar de la Hoya
Best Linux Software Bundle: OSCAR
Best Oscar: Oscar Best, “Angel Heart”
Best Holocaust Subverter: Oskar Schindler
Best Fashion Designer: Oscar de la Renta
The Irving Thalberg Lifetime Achievement Award for Being Named Oscar: Oscar Micheaux
Best Archbishop of El Salvador: Oscar Romero
Best World-Class Pianist and Jazz Great: Oscar Peterson
Best Actor in a Supporting Role: Steve Buscemi, “Ghost World”
Best Clothier: Oscar of Sweden
Best Computer Science Professor: Oscar Waddell, Indiana University
Best Anime Character or Something: Lady Oscar
Best Guitars: Oscar Schmidt by Washburn
Best… aw, fuck it.

General
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Drugs to which I am addicted

Caffeine
Nicotine
Alcohol
Smack
Blow
Crack
Roofies
Ecstasy
Sharpies
Tylenol
Phenobarbitol
Iocaine powder
Ludes
KT-28s
Turrets
Muggles
Goofballs
Mucilage
Finger puppets
Speed
Ecstamasy
Sweet ‘N’ Low
Nancy gas
Iron filings
Sex packets
Mothballs
Hell biscuits
Flipper babies
Honey mustard
Crushed egg cartons
Silica gel
Immodium AD
Duck saliva
Applesauce caplets
Ecstamasextamasy
Lost buttons
Freezer scrapings
Cough syrup
Uppers
Downers
Nightgowners
Red devils
Yellow jackets
Blue heavens
Black rogues
Scarlet pimples
Ketamine
Keratin
Albuterin
Prime-number-shitting bears
Viagra
Trazodone
Marzapan
Shirley Temples
Target shoppers
Elevator operators
Nasty waxies
Chocolate pennies
Composite gray t-shirt fabric doobies
Candied buckshot
Prairie oysters
Tic tacs dipped in latex paint
Shrooms
Stools
Molds
Acid
Angel dust
Unleaded plus
Episode recaplets
Aluminum beans
Barburritos
Naked Susans
Jellied glass
Crystal meth
TLC
Shoe polish
Klugman Qs
Bling
Tooth powder
Legos
Cheese grannies
Animal planets
Rabies shots
Heparin
Butter buds
Soap shavings
Glandbangers
Chicken feet
Klondike fives
Taffeta gas
Parsely
Sage
Rosemary
Thyme
Junk
Garbage
Feces
Rose petals

Drugs to which I am not addicted

Marijuana

Conclusion

God bless you, Nancy Reagan!

Metariffic

Three thousand hits!

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Recently the counter at the bottom of my page hit 3000. This means there are now over three thousand times that my webpage has been looked at since the middle of October. Roughly one third of that is me, and three fourths of the remaining two thirds are represented by hapless Google searchers who search for “policewoman lingerie party” or some such nonsense, only to find my page and look at it for a split second before deciding it was not what they were looking for.

Nevertheless, it is an important milestone. This puts my page up there with some of the most popular sites on the web, such as Suck.com, Pets.com, and, of course, PrimeNumberShittingBear.org. And I have been reaping the financial rewards of having one of the world’s most popular websites. The money has been rolling in. Soon, each Daily Hey I write will bring me one year closer to retirement.

Because I will take a year to write each of them.

Get it? I did a little play there, on what I said before.

Oh, the hell with ya’s!