04/26/25
The Answer. The Question. The Excuse.
|  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. Quote of the Day“Fascism is not the devices and mechanisms that force us to our knees, but those who operate in the shadows and convince us "on our knees" is the place we're born. And the first seed of fascism is rent.”-Crosby in 3F, every first of the month Fortune 500 CookieToday is not your day, buddy—by a horrible bit of luck, your day was exactly six weeks before you were conceived. The good news is you look a lot like William Daniels; the bad news is that doesn't pay much these days. Watch out Thursday, when you're nearly buried in a deluge of Fangoria magazines that have been building up in your closet. Lucky numbers? You want luck? Eat me, sadsack.Try again later. Top Excuses for Ugly Hat
 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.