Shoney’s terrorism

All right, everybody. Settle down. Those three brown people in the restaurant were simply trying to enjoy the liver and onions. Let’s not go making a fuss, now. Brown people are all over the place. Maybe not at Shoney’s, sure. But even so, as yet we whiteys have not rounded them up into camps, and so they are free to roam the country as they like, with the exception of airports.

A few days ago I had to find an Ace Hardware store, so I went to their website. It happened to be on September 11, and Ace Hardware had replaced their regular front page with a white on black message saying, “We Remember September 11″. Hey, no shit. I remember it too. It was a pretty horrifying day. It will never be forgotten. So you remember it. Great. Have a cookie. Where the fuck is your store locator?

I’ve been seeing these messages everywhere. It’s not the sentiment that bothers me so much as the wording. “Remember” is not the right word. It is right to say “we remember the events of September 11″, but that connotes a minute-by-minute replaying of the action. We can remember those that died in the attacks, but if we don’t know anyone who died in the attacks, as I suspect the majority of Americans don’t, then we can’t really remember things and people we never knew. It’s really more like sympathy and grief. I guess “We Still Sympathize with the Survivors of Those Who Died on September 11″ isn’t as punchy. But who am I to give people shit? They don’t know what to say on the one year anniversary of the day the world blew up.

Well, other than “Hello, FBI? There are three suspicious Muslim-type guys in the booth adjacent to mine! Send help!”

I could go for some Shoney’s right about now…

Um

Recently received in email:

Dear Sir or Madam,

My name is Michael Cole. I represent Zundara.com, a website that offers cosmetic surgery and sex reassignment procedures in Thailand by the famous Dr. Preecha Tiewtranon.

I am writing because Lucubus.com is a popular destination for our target audience: pre and post operation transsexuals. We would like to invite you to be our affiliate. An affiliate is someone who places a Zundara banner or text link on their website, and collects a commission on referrals who schedule a procedure.

Zundara.com will likely be an interesting choice for your viewers because it provides clear descriptions of every procedure available by Dr. Preecha. Surgeon credentials, affordable prices, and photos are complete and easy to find on the site.

Would you please be so kind as to visit Zundara.com and let me know if you would be interested in receiving a brief proposal? You can also view the Affiliate details and registration at www.Zundara.com/affiliates. The process is simple and quick!

How does this sound?

Best wishes,
Michael Cole

I like how the letter starts off with “Dear Sir or Madam”. That’s cute. I wonder if The Lucubus really is a popular destination for pre- and post-op transsexuals. I mean, aside from me. And how can I turn down affiliating myself with the famous Dr. Preecha Tiewtranon?

Decisions, decisions…!

One year

Planes crashed.
Buildings collapsed.
People died.

Rescue workers dug.
Families mourned.
Television personalities wept.

Zealots preached.
Bigots fumed.
People prayed.

Politicians seized.
Armies deployed.
Terrorists hid.

Bills passed.
Bombs fell.
Flags rose.

Patriots saluted.
Fifth-columnists questioned.
Attorney Generals justified.

Life continued.

Donor brain

Please pay heed to this warning. I am going to speak of a subject which may make some readers uncomfortable. The subject in question is the involuntary nature of erections and the stubborn nature of such unwanted phenomena. If you do not wish to read about this as it pertains to an incident in my life this evening, please cease your reading at this time.

It is a well-known fact, at least among men, that an erection is caused when blood flow increases in the penis. What causes this increase in blood flow? Any number of things, actually. Sexual stimulation is but one of the many triggers of this event. A full bladder, for instance, can cause an increased blood flow, as can a bout of gas. Sleeping on one’s stomach is another popular cause. In my case, it seems that circulation increases when I start to become very sleepy.

Flashback: 1992. Spanish class. Third period, right before lunch, long enough for me to have used up any energy I may have absorbed from eating the one donut or english muffin of which my breakfast was typically composed. Combine that with a relatively mundane subject matter presented very dryly, and the result was a number of students nodding off. Falling asleep in class was no limited phenomenon. Indeed, it was widespread, and I was certainly one of the guiltier parties. But it was in Spanish class in particular that I was most susceptible to dozing off in class.

Perhaps it was because my lunch period immediately followed that class, allowing me some time for introspection, but at some point I began observing that I became sleepy in class at the same time every day; and moreover, the nodding off would generally be accompanied by what I started calling a “desk boner” or DB for short. The DB phenomenon would occur when one was sitting at a small desk which would be very narrowly suspended over one’s lap, and in the event of an erection, that already-tight seating space would become impossible to escape from, as the erection would either hook against tubing on the underside of the desk or be pressed very tightly against the desk’s flat underside. Any effort to escape would simply cause more pressure against the erection and thus simply make it stronger. The only way to escape the desk boner was to wait for the thing to go away, often as mysteriously as it appeared.

The DB was not an altogether unpleasant phenomenon; what made me start to categorize them as troublesome was the fact that they were accompanied by a very violent form of nodding off every ten seconds. So not only was I falling asleep in class and having to worry about staying awake, but also my oddly circulating blood was constantly causing my desk to tighten around my genital region. In terms of distractions from one’s lessons, that was a double whammy.

This happened to me with such frequency that I began to track it. I found that it was at approximately 10:33 AM every day that a major DB event would occur, more often than not brought on by nodding off and violently waking over and over. I shared this with a few of my friends, and they were very excited (although, you know, not in that way) to start keeping stats on their own DBs. It was tremendous fun. I recommend this activity to any high school student interested in learning more about human biology. It would no doubt make a fine science project.

I finished high school, and my body started to settle down a bit after puberty, but by no means did the DBs cease; college classes brought them back with an unparalled vigor. It would get so bad that I would sometimes be forced to excuse myself from class briefly and go for a short walk and wait for everything to settle down in that area. The feeling could be described as unpleasant pleasure. It felt good, but the good feeling was an irritant instead of what it should normally be, and only on rare occasions did it inspire sexual thoughts or activity. Of course, I can only speak for myself.

Years have passed, and while I am still affected by DB on a regular basis, it is no longer the daily scourge it had been in my adolescent days. I am enrolled in school once again and there is actually a considerable difference between the way my body behaves now as compared to then.

I was quite surprised then, at what happened on the train ride home from school earlier this evening. I was sitting with my backpack on my lap riding the Evanston Express, which has a tendency to travel fast. When we reached our top speed, the train began rocking, and my bag began bouncing up and down in my lap; thus beginning a curious new phenomenon, “Train Backpack Boner” or TBB. I was nodding off as the train sped along, and barely noticed the bouncing bag or burgeoning TBB.

When we pulled into the terminal, I moved to stand up only to discover that the bouncing bag on my lap had coaxed my TBB through the fly flaps of my practical yet sexy boxer briefs and down into the leg of my gunmetal grey summer shorts. I stood up, and the bulge was obvious. It looked a bit like I had an oblong object in one of my front pockets. In a sense, I did. As I changed trains, I noted how the TBB was very much like a DB except that it was a bit more portable. The fact that my TBB was an open-air variation made it that much more persistent and potentially noticeable. Fortunately, I had opted to carry my backpack by the handle in front of myself rather than put it on my back, which probably looked suspicious but was much better than the alternative. Three stations down the track, it finally went away.

I thought my readers who are unfamiliar with the foibles of male genitalia would find this fascinating, and hopefully the more johnson-savvy members of my readership found something in here with which to empathize as well.

My discussion of this unpleasant matter is now complete. And now, back to the family-friendly programming for which the Lucubus Network has earned renown.

Vaguely creative and artistically unfocused balderdash.