Waiting Room

I’ve been out of commission the past few weeks recovering from a brutal dental surgery that involved screws, needles, tequilla, and the ground up bones of long deceased militants from Paraguay. Over the years I’ve broken many pieces of my body, but this one has really put me down hard. It’s not easy eating Jello and drinking Boost for a few weeks. And my mouth is still more swollen than…ah…uh…Ashlee Simpson after a night in Gary Busey’s basement.

Shit. Used that line in my last post. These painkillers warp the meaning of time and language, and they make it completely impossible to come up with fresh material. But they do make television more interesting, and I sure have been watching plenty of that…

That new Heineken commercial with the green girl with the robotic arms is horrifying. Will someone tell their marketing department that they should be trying to sell me a delicious imported beer, not a thirty second glimpse into Aldous Huxley’s soul.

And I can’t believe there isn’t an easier way to get miners out of rock. For that matter, we still use people for mining? We haven’t invented some robot to do it? This story happens so routinely that newspapers might as well just create a base article and run it every few months.

I think this ongoing furor over Michael Vick killing dogs is a bit overrated. It’s a shitty thing to do, to be sure, but white people don’t even bat an eye over killing animals that can no longer race well. What’s the difference between fighting a pit-bull and racing a greyhound?

…And I could go on like this all night. Being bedridden is a lot like being an astronomer. A stoned, toothless astronomer. Next post I'll give my opinion on the conspiracy flick The Zeitgeist. It's been burning an interesting path along the walls of the web. But until than, buy your books with cash, keep an eye to the sky, and stock up on rubber pants.