03/21/26
More fun than an alcoholic stepdad
|  The Truth About Ice Cubesby Dr. Malcolm Zooter   February 3, 2003 I've heard ice cubes scream
like unpleasant human beings when I dunk them into my drink. I'd say they're alive, don't you think? Formed in their trays like a nursery, living their lives brief and cursory, but is everything quite what it seems? What do they dream in their cold, frozen dreams? What could they teach us, if we were to listen, mesmerized by the glean of their glisten? Subtly speaking with clicks on my tumbler… Speak up! I think this one's a mumbler. The world's murky secrets revealed in the cold, cubic truths they conceal… This one knows why they shot Kennedy! Oh shit, he melted in my grenadine! Well this one won't look so glib once he's floating in my warm Mr. Pibb. I think he'll gladly spill his guts in answer to my who's, when's and what's. Yes, the truth now is growing far clearer than the ice cube I nailed to my mirror. The old, funky ones that smell like fish sticks are clearly the wise ice cube mystics. They tell me ice cubes form from the ether when ideas slow down for a breather and are trapped into cubes as they're frozen, until for a beverage they're chosen. They they're passed on to the drinker, who promptly then becomes the thinker of this now liberated idea (about a new haircut or a pet made of chia)! So if you see me chomping ice cubes en mass or you notice no liquid in my glass, don't think that my brain's gone on disconnect. I'm just eating my way to great intellect. Milestones1993: Ramon Nootles graduates from San Dimas Community College with a degree in Questionable Journalism, the first degree of its kind offered in America, and a minor in Poontang Studies.Now HiringIron Monkey. We saw the movie and thought the ancient Chinese legend might be the guy to get the ninja we hired out of our offices. Lame-ass ninja, poison-darting Lefty the mail clerk and skittering across the tops of the computer towers.Women Other Than Christina Ricci We Want Chained to Our Radiator
 Frombnabula 7 Orange crush skies crush down upon Frombnabula 7 and the space crew thereon: Phinneas Wilbur, the captain of late, and Gumfrey McDumfrey, his faithful first mate, and Rooter, and Bramble, and John-Boy Perdue and six other guys ... (1/20/03) Tits are in the Eye of the Beholder I think that I shall never pass a poem as lovely as an ass or a verse that weighs as heavy as a buck-naked supermodel straddling a Chevy How could course words ever capture the heaven of the classic Maxim issue #7? No match has a poet's mind... (1/6/03) Lunch Money Listen up, Billy Olson I'm a drink you up like Molson make you sing like a fat Al Jolson grab your tits and milk 'em both, son. 'Cause you messed with the best I confess it's no test I am the real thing you will know the hurt I bring ... (12/23/02)            |
Reproduction in hole or in parts without permission is likely to piss off her dad big time.