HELLOOOO NEWMAN: Laughter is your sixth sense
Monday, 30 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Smart Water: The Interview
Helloooo Newman: Smart Water: The Interview: Did you know you can buy Smart Water? Why was this marvelous news kept from me? I suspected the tap water I drink was no magna cum l...
Smart Water: The Interview
Did you know you can buy Smart Water?
I suspected the tap water I drink was no magna cum liquid, but I didn't think it was dumb, stupid, slow, simple, Gumpish, imbecilic – watered down.
So much so, Helloooo Newman interviewed a bottle of Smart Water.
Newman: Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Water.
Mr. Water: You can call me Smart.
Newman: A lot of people wonder what makes you smarter than other water. How do you answer them?
Mr. Water: Well, just look at regular water, like toilet water, or water that contains denge fever. You can tell on the first drop that comes out of their mouth.
Newman: Um, okayyyyy. People don't drink that water, but can you be more specific?
Mr. Water: It's the extra oxygen molecule. Dumb water has one oxygen molecule and 2 hydrogen molecules. I have an extra oxygen molecule – more oxygen to my brain. I've always had a real thirst for knowledge.
When I was a kid I always had my hand up first in class. I remember one bottle of dumb water (he was from a tap water family), the teacher asked what water is made of and he answered HbO. Too much binge watching, I guess. He was a few drops short.
Then I was streamed into the gifted program but didn't mix well with other liquids. Got into a scuffle with a really snooty bottle of olive oil. Pummeled him so bad now he just sits in a can at Red Lobster marinating leftover crab meat.
You know, they say Einstein was the man that changed the way we think. I want to change the way we drink.
Newman: It's just hard to imagine water having an I.Q.
Mr. Water: Listen, I'm a hell of a lot smarter than the people who buy me. $2.99 a bottle? What a joke.
Newman: Jennifer Aniston is your spokesperson. What is your situation with her?
Mr. Water: I would say it's very fluid. We're great friends, but sometimes she makes me boiling mad with her demands.
Newman: Any romance there?
Mr. Water: Ha. She talks dirty to me. Told me I make her wet. We took a shower together once. She couldn't find me for days
Newman: Um, I forgot to mention children might be listening.
Mr. Water: Oh, sorry. I'll filter myself.
Newman: I understand you got some acting gigs through Ms. Aniston.
Mr. Water: Yes. I was the rain in Rain Man.
Newman: Hmmm, I don't remember rain in that movie.
Mr. Water: Ya, they cut me out. Bummer. That was a really draining experience.
Newman: Do you drink Smart Water yourself?
Mr. Water: Do I look like a cannibal?
Newman: What's next for you, Smart?
Mr. Water: I might go over Niagara Falls in a bottle. You know, for publicity.
Thursday, 26 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors
Helloooo Newman: The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors: Her smile was completely out of place. I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies...
The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors
Her smile was completely out of place.
I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies everywhere but none of them were dead in the actual sense. We were dead, bureaucratically speaking – the depression-era lineup, obedient nobodies clutching forms, shuffling to the next available spot in the line, the stench of procedures and regulations everywhere, no eye contact, no EEG readings. Waiting…
After a while, the walls and the lighting meshed together, creating a soft hue of baby puke. Stay focused: I was here to renew my licence, not my humanity.
Moving to one of the service counters of the dead was the smiling woman. Why was she smiling, against such odds? This was no Gioconda, coy half-smile. This smile had a PhD in smiling. From corner to corner, the smile started in this office and ended somewhere around the edge of the known universe.
She handed her forms in and stepped in front of the camera.
"Ma'am, no smiling." A voice rang out with all the bellicosity of a Rhino protecting its young.
"You can't smile."
The smiling lady was flummoxed. "I'm not smiling", she said.
"Ma'am, no smiling", the Rhino repeated.
It turns out the government had not finished shrink-wrapping our soul and muting our humanity. Smiling for one's driver's licence photo was forbidden, even dangerous. It's important that your photo expressed all the joy of Charles Manson's mugshot.
Helter Skelter, mandolin version, was playing in the background.
The smiling lady kept insisting that she was not smiling. She turned to the crowd for help. Immediately I saw the problem.
Behold the face that launched a thousand plastic surgeons. Her face was not a face, it was a set of tupperware. Her lips (were they lips or stretch marks? did she give birth through the esophagus?) couldn't send the proper nerve signals to her brain, telling her "we are smiling, now we are not".
I had to help her. I suddenly remembered: Heat. Melts. Plastic.
Conveniently, the government office was located in a Canadian Tire store. I moved like a Gazelle. I lost my place in line and grabbed the most powerful blow dryer I could find – the Ferrari 3000.
I approached the woman's face with engines full. Her face began to droop. Oops. I turned the heat down. Some last minute sculpting and the lips normalized. She was ready for her closeup.
I smiled BIG.
For one brief moment, I felt alive in a government office.
I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies everywhere but none of them were dead in the actual sense. We were dead, bureaucratically speaking – the depression-era lineup, obedient nobodies clutching forms, shuffling to the next available spot in the line, the stench of procedures and regulations everywhere, no eye contact, no EEG readings. Waiting…
After a while, the walls and the lighting meshed together, creating a soft hue of baby puke. Stay focused: I was here to renew my licence, not my humanity.
Moving to one of the service counters of the dead was the smiling woman. Why was she smiling, against such odds? This was no Gioconda, coy half-smile. This smile had a PhD in smiling. From corner to corner, the smile started in this office and ended somewhere around the edge of the known universe.
She handed her forms in and stepped in front of the camera.
"Ma'am, no smiling." A voice rang out with all the bellicosity of a Rhino protecting its young.
"You can't smile."
The smiling lady was flummoxed. "I'm not smiling", she said.
"Ma'am, no smiling", the Rhino repeated.
It turns out the government had not finished shrink-wrapping our soul and muting our humanity. Smiling for one's driver's licence photo was forbidden, even dangerous. It's important that your photo expressed all the joy of Charles Manson's mugshot.
Helter Skelter, mandolin version, was playing in the background.
The smiling lady kept insisting that she was not smiling. She turned to the crowd for help. Immediately I saw the problem.
Behold the face that launched a thousand plastic surgeons. Her face was not a face, it was a set of tupperware. Her lips (were they lips or stretch marks? did she give birth through the esophagus?) couldn't send the proper nerve signals to her brain, telling her "we are smiling, now we are not".
I had to help her. I suddenly remembered: Heat. Melts. Plastic.
Conveniently, the government office was located in a Canadian Tire store. I moved like a Gazelle. I lost my place in line and grabbed the most powerful blow dryer I could find – the Ferrari 3000.
I approached the woman's face with engines full. Her face began to droop. Oops. I turned the heat down. Some last minute sculpting and the lips normalized. She was ready for her closeup.
I smiled BIG.
For one brief moment, I felt alive in a government office.
Thursday, 19 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: If Not Now, When?
Helloooo Newman: If Not Now, When?: Do you ever troll through LinkedIn, only searching for really good looking people (chicks or guys, depending) and then connecting with them?...
If Not Now, When?
Do you ever troll through LinkedIn, only searching for really good looking people (chicks or guys, depending) and then connecting with them?
Me neither.
It's a time-waster.
My current mantra is: If not now, when?
This is meant to get myself to do things. I love, adore, covet putting things off. Procrastination is my minx, a pretty woman wooing me into indolence.
I also suffer from finifugalism. This is the fear of endings, of finishing anything. It's even hard to finish this sentence because I have so much to say the trees and winter's coming and I have to start my shopping what will I get this year oh no another blow dryer but the GrowBot is neat…see!
I repeat it in my mind every night before I fall asleep. I suppose this is a curious time for that specific mantra. "If not now, when?" implies I am about to do something really important that I've been putting off for years…but then I just fall asleep. I never put off falling asleep.
I enjoy putting things off so much that sometimes I will do something just to put off putting it off. Yes, it's that bad.
As a procrastinator, I'm in good company, historically speaking. There is a temple in Spain called the Sagrada Familia. Construction of the Sagrada started in 1882 by a dude named Gaudi. The damn thing is still being built. You read right. They're still adding shit to it. I have a picture of the Sagrada on my wall to remind myself of how well I actually am doing.
The main reason I put things off is fear. There's the finifugal fear, plus the fear of screwing up, failing, looking stupid, fear of missing a nap etc.
Lately, though, I've decided fear will not control me anymore. I like to say that fear is no longer my pilot. I'm the one flying the plane now. Fear is the co-pilot at best, and preferably the hot flight attendant that I can do on those moving stairs used to de-plane.
Only yesterday did I realize that "If not now, when?" is a question requiring an answer. I never thought to answer it. When is when? Now? Tomorrow at 1:20 p.m.? Once I've read all my Twitter feeds? There's no easy answer.
What are some of the things I need to do? Well, it would be cool to be bilingual. I have a friend at Toastmasters who is bilingual, and constantly reminds me of it. He speaks Spanish and English. Being a single guy, one time he told me he was also cunnilingual. I'm not sure what that meant. I said I'm married.
His favourite word was chucklefuck. "Oh man, that girl was a real chucklefuck", he would say. Nope, not sure what that means either.
I just try to focus on doin' the doin' and staying ahead of the Sagrada builders.
Me neither.
It's a time-waster.
My current mantra is: If not now, when?
This is meant to get myself to do things. I love, adore, covet putting things off. Procrastination is my minx, a pretty woman wooing me into indolence.
I also suffer from finifugalism. This is the fear of endings, of finishing anything. It's even hard to finish this sentence because I have so much to say the trees and winter's coming and I have to start my shopping what will I get this year oh no another blow dryer but the GrowBot is neat…see!
I repeat it in my mind every night before I fall asleep. I suppose this is a curious time for that specific mantra. "If not now, when?" implies I am about to do something really important that I've been putting off for years…but then I just fall asleep. I never put off falling asleep.
I enjoy putting things off so much that sometimes I will do something just to put off putting it off. Yes, it's that bad.
As a procrastinator, I'm in good company, historically speaking. There is a temple in Spain called the Sagrada Familia. Construction of the Sagrada started in 1882 by a dude named Gaudi. The damn thing is still being built. You read right. They're still adding shit to it. I have a picture of the Sagrada on my wall to remind myself of how well I actually am doing.
The main reason I put things off is fear. There's the finifugal fear, plus the fear of screwing up, failing, looking stupid, fear of missing a nap etc.
Lately, though, I've decided fear will not control me anymore. I like to say that fear is no longer my pilot. I'm the one flying the plane now. Fear is the co-pilot at best, and preferably the hot flight attendant that I can do on those moving stairs used to de-plane.
Only yesterday did I realize that "If not now, when?" is a question requiring an answer. I never thought to answer it. When is when? Now? Tomorrow at 1:20 p.m.? Once I've read all my Twitter feeds? There's no easy answer.
What are some of the things I need to do? Well, it would be cool to be bilingual. I have a friend at Toastmasters who is bilingual, and constantly reminds me of it. He speaks Spanish and English. Being a single guy, one time he told me he was also cunnilingual. I'm not sure what that meant. I said I'm married.
His favourite word was chucklefuck. "Oh man, that girl was a real chucklefuck", he would say. Nope, not sure what that means either.
I just try to focus on doin' the doin' and staying ahead of the Sagrada builders.
La Sagrada Familia
Thursday, 12 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Gentle Ben Carson
Helloooo Newman: Gentle Ben Carson: Unlike his evil compatriot, Jeb Bush, Ben Carson does not kill babies. He is gentle Ben. Ben was asked a slightly different question tha...
Gentle Ben Carson
Unlike his evil compatriot, Jeb Bush, Ben Carson does not kill babies.
He is gentle Ben.
Ben was asked a slightly different question than Jeb. "Would you go back in time and abort fetus Hitler?", was Ben's question.
A stern NO boomed out of his mouth. "Im not in favour of aborting anybody."
Gentle Ben said that, being a doctor, he would deliver baby Hitler, immediately shave the moustache, remove his arms so he could not invent the Nazi salute and operate on his tongue to create a lisp so that if he tried any of that dictator talk, people would just laugh and go picnic in the Black Forest.
Sieg Heil would sound like Thieg Heil, Nathzees. No real man will get behind that kind of talk, right?
Gentle Ben figures that baby Hitler didn't have enough Jethuth, sorry, "Jesus", in his life and also suffered from a poor diet.
Easily remedied, according to Gentle Ben. Ben's house is (in real life!) full of paintings of him posing with Him, that Him being Jesus.
That's right. A house full of religious selfies, Bible-style.
It's uncertain who painted these images. It definitely wasn't Charles Manson, another ruthless killer who Gentle Ben would gladly deliver from the womb. Charles thinks he's the second coming, and that upsets big Gentle Ben.
These paintings would be strategically hung around baby Hitler's play pen. Of course, Gentle Ben would have to explain to Baby Hitler which one in the paintings was God's son. I hear Ben often gets that confused.
Improving baby Hitler's diet is easy too. Ben would go further back in time, store some of that Egyptian pyramid grain in portable pyramid tupperware, zip back and feed it to Hitler.
Ben even considered specializing as a doctor who only delivers evil-doing babies, guaranteeing that his delivery would cure them of their sadistic impulses.
Running for President is a far greater calling for Ben.
He is gentle Ben.
Ben was asked a slightly different question than Jeb. "Would you go back in time and abort fetus Hitler?", was Ben's question.
A stern NO boomed out of his mouth. "Im not in favour of aborting anybody."
Gentle Ben said that, being a doctor, he would deliver baby Hitler, immediately shave the moustache, remove his arms so he could not invent the Nazi salute and operate on his tongue to create a lisp so that if he tried any of that dictator talk, people would just laugh and go picnic in the Black Forest.
Sieg Heil would sound like Thieg Heil, Nathzees. No real man will get behind that kind of talk, right?
Gentle Ben figures that baby Hitler didn't have enough Jethuth, sorry, "Jesus", in his life and also suffered from a poor diet.
Easily remedied, according to Gentle Ben. Ben's house is (in real life!) full of paintings of him posing with Him, that Him being Jesus.
That's right. A house full of religious selfies, Bible-style.
It's uncertain who painted these images. It definitely wasn't Charles Manson, another ruthless killer who Gentle Ben would gladly deliver from the womb. Charles thinks he's the second coming, and that upsets big Gentle Ben.
These paintings would be strategically hung around baby Hitler's play pen. Of course, Gentle Ben would have to explain to Baby Hitler which one in the paintings was God's son. I hear Ben often gets that confused.
Improving baby Hitler's diet is easy too. Ben would go further back in time, store some of that Egyptian pyramid grain in portable pyramid tupperware, zip back and feed it to Hitler.
Ben even considered specializing as a doctor who only delivers evil-doing babies, guaranteeing that his delivery would cure them of their sadistic impulses.
Running for President is a far greater calling for Ben.
Gentle Ben & Jesus – Buds
Tuesday, 10 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Jeb Bush Kills Babies
Helloooo Newman: Jeb Bush Kills Babies: Jeb Bush wants to kill babies. And he wants to be your President. Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was poss...
Jeb Bush Kills Babies
Jeb Bush wants to kill babies. And he wants to be your President.
Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was possible, would he go back in time and kill baby Hitler.
"Hell, ya. You gotta step up." That is a direct, real-world quote.
Finally, we're getting to the nub of an important issue that affects the middle class. Time travel, and its effect on nasty people.
It's remarkable that the iconic film Back to the Future, with all its ramifications, is finally causing reverberations throughout society, as I knew it would.
Marty McFly, philosopher of the ages. Sales of DeLorean's are skyrocketing.
It gets tiresome when politicians are continually bothered with "that's-not-gonna-happen", hard-to-believe scenarios like nuclear war, unemployment, terrorism, when history is full of far more important issues, like who was the caveman that threw the first ever punch.
My reaction is, why stop at one baby? Baby killing can be habit-forming. While your time machine is up and running, why not get Stalin? Pol Pot? Nixon?
Jeb went on to say that he would enter the nursery where little Adolph was born and do it quietly, with a pillow, identifying Hitler by his trend-setting moustache. He loved the irony of such a violent man going so gently into that good night.
At one point, the interviewer handed Jeb what looked like a genuine plane ticket, with the words "Virgin Air Time Travel-One Return Ticket" on it.
Jeb got very nervous, thinking holy shit, I might actually have to do this. The interviewer laughed and admitted it was a fake, but Jeb was unconvinced, sweat flowing from his armpits.
I so wish the interviewer presented him with other likely scenarios, so I can better judge if he is up for President. My question would have been: let's suppose a car hits a street lamp, the light falls, rolls into some scaffolding at a nearby building, which collapses, causing a large board to fall from a great height, further causing a nail to be flung from the board, whistling towards a nearby baby's head. Would you, Jeb, jump in front of that nail to save baby X.
A man who can kill babies one day and save them the next, a man who can make that crucial distinction, has President written all over his face.
Alas, there was some disagreement in the Bush household. Jeb's wife, what's her name, preferred the more motherly route: go back, breast feed Adolph and dress him in soft, hand-knit sweaters, so that he has the proper upbringing to avoid seeing people as vermin.
Could you be President? What would you do?
Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was possible, would he go back in time and kill baby Hitler.
"Hell, ya. You gotta step up." That is a direct, real-world quote.
Finally, we're getting to the nub of an important issue that affects the middle class. Time travel, and its effect on nasty people.
It's remarkable that the iconic film Back to the Future, with all its ramifications, is finally causing reverberations throughout society, as I knew it would.
Marty McFly, philosopher of the ages. Sales of DeLorean's are skyrocketing.
It gets tiresome when politicians are continually bothered with "that's-not-gonna-happen", hard-to-believe scenarios like nuclear war, unemployment, terrorism, when history is full of far more important issues, like who was the caveman that threw the first ever punch.
My reaction is, why stop at one baby? Baby killing can be habit-forming. While your time machine is up and running, why not get Stalin? Pol Pot? Nixon?
Jeb went on to say that he would enter the nursery where little Adolph was born and do it quietly, with a pillow, identifying Hitler by his trend-setting moustache. He loved the irony of such a violent man going so gently into that good night.
At one point, the interviewer handed Jeb what looked like a genuine plane ticket, with the words "Virgin Air Time Travel-One Return Ticket" on it.
Jeb got very nervous, thinking holy shit, I might actually have to do this. The interviewer laughed and admitted it was a fake, but Jeb was unconvinced, sweat flowing from his armpits.
I so wish the interviewer presented him with other likely scenarios, so I can better judge if he is up for President. My question would have been: let's suppose a car hits a street lamp, the light falls, rolls into some scaffolding at a nearby building, which collapses, causing a large board to fall from a great height, further causing a nail to be flung from the board, whistling towards a nearby baby's head. Would you, Jeb, jump in front of that nail to save baby X.
A man who can kill babies one day and save them the next, a man who can make that crucial distinction, has President written all over his face.
Alas, there was some disagreement in the Bush household. Jeb's wife, what's her name, preferred the more motherly route: go back, breast feed Adolph and dress him in soft, hand-knit sweaters, so that he has the proper upbringing to avoid seeing people as vermin.
Could you be President? What would you do?
Saturday, 7 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Dancing with Wolf Blitzer
Helloooo Newman: Dancing with Wolf Blitzer: In my mind there's really only one authority in news – Wolf Blitzer. That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wo...
Dancing with Wolf Blitzer
In my mind there's really only one authority in news – Wolf Blitzer.
That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wolves first appeared, oh, about fifty million years ago, as estimated by scientists.
One builds up a pretty good resume after that much time. I wouldn't want to be the HR person who has to sift through his 100,000 page resume, but boy, I would be impressed with the page count.
Wolf Blitzer is one of those names where I have trouble believing someone actually called their child "Wolf", and someone's family name is actually "Blitzer".
Isn't there a reindeer called Blitzer?
Mr. Blitzer is German, so you're probably thinking that "Wolf" is short for "Wolfgang", a common German name.
You could call Wolf the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart of news yelling. He started very early, coming out of the womb screaming about the "situation" in the Middle East, and with nary a teleprompter in sight.
However, after considerable research, I discovered that Wolfgang is not the etymology of his first name. He was, in fact, raised by wolves.
Wolf would sit in playgrounds and recite, in a newsy bellow, the various goings on of the children. People had enough when he started muckraking the parents, accusing them of affairs, embezzlement, child abuse, or colluding with Yasser Arafat. He wouldn't stop so his parents quietly left him in a nearby forest and the wolves received him without question.
When he first started in television, he would howl the news, pee on the cameras, causing an electrical fire, and then stalk, attack and eat his co-anchor. People got tired of the studio looking bloodier then the local car accidents they would cover.
Years of training has pared down those nasty instincts to a simple monotone yelling into the camera.
Somewhere along the line he made a huge civilizational leap – wearing really nice suits. This was accompanied by sophisticated talk, cocktail parties, art appreciation and a taste for the finer wines. I trust Wolf Blass is his wine of choice?
The true "wolf" in him lingers with those blue wolf eyes and oval pupils. Wide and always looking for the kill. Sometimes I'm still afraid he will reach out of the television and turn me into stewing beef.
I think if CNN ever dumps Blitzer, he has a career as a mutant, don't you?
Wolferine Blitzer?
That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wolves first appeared, oh, about fifty million years ago, as estimated by scientists.
One builds up a pretty good resume after that much time. I wouldn't want to be the HR person who has to sift through his 100,000 page resume, but boy, I would be impressed with the page count.
Wolf Blitzer is one of those names where I have trouble believing someone actually called their child "Wolf", and someone's family name is actually "Blitzer".
Isn't there a reindeer called Blitzer?
Mr. Blitzer is German, so you're probably thinking that "Wolf" is short for "Wolfgang", a common German name.
You could call Wolf the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart of news yelling. He started very early, coming out of the womb screaming about the "situation" in the Middle East, and with nary a teleprompter in sight.
However, after considerable research, I discovered that Wolfgang is not the etymology of his first name. He was, in fact, raised by wolves.
Wolf would sit in playgrounds and recite, in a newsy bellow, the various goings on of the children. People had enough when he started muckraking the parents, accusing them of affairs, embezzlement, child abuse, or colluding with Yasser Arafat. He wouldn't stop so his parents quietly left him in a nearby forest and the wolves received him without question.
When he first started in television, he would howl the news, pee on the cameras, causing an electrical fire, and then stalk, attack and eat his co-anchor. People got tired of the studio looking bloodier then the local car accidents they would cover.
Years of training has pared down those nasty instincts to a simple monotone yelling into the camera.
Somewhere along the line he made a huge civilizational leap – wearing really nice suits. This was accompanied by sophisticated talk, cocktail parties, art appreciation and a taste for the finer wines. I trust Wolf Blass is his wine of choice?
The true "wolf" in him lingers with those blue wolf eyes and oval pupils. Wide and always looking for the kill. Sometimes I'm still afraid he will reach out of the television and turn me into stewing beef.
I think if CNN ever dumps Blitzer, he has a career as a mutant, don't you?
Wolferine Blitzer?
Friday, 6 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Heeeerrrrs Johnny
Helloooo Newman: Heeeerrrrs Johnny: Okay, now I'm really confused. Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson? This is strikingly similar to a question I asked my...
Heeeerrrrs Johnny
Okay, now I'm really confused.
Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson?
This is strikingly similar to a question I asked myself last week – what would I rather die of, necrotizing fasciitis or lewy body dementia?
Dilemmas, dilemmas.
Mr. Carson is actually Dr. Carson. Doctors are smart, aren't they?
Dr. Carson recently said he believes the pyramids were built by the biblical Joseph to store grain.
You know, I'm not really sure how smart the ancient Egyptians were. None of them had PhDs, like Dr. Carson has.
Now keep in mind I'm neither an architect nor a farmer. However, if I were building a structure to hold grain, I would probably built it mostly empty. You know, so it could hold as much grain as possible. That way I'm not constantly riding my camel back and forth to the grain store, to fill up my grain pyramid.
The pyramids are mostly not empty, save for a few tunnels and chambers containing mummified corpses.
They are pretty much solid stone. Wow, someone in Egypt screwed up on the grain holding portfolio. Yet they had the astounding skill to build the pyramid in the first place. Somehow they carved and moved stones the size of bungalows. Confounding, indeed.
Think about a simple water-carrying jug, which I think the Egyptians carried on their heads. What shape is it? Is it tall and bowl shaped, or pyramid shaped, because it looks really cool.
They went with the bowl shape, a great decision. The bowl shape holds more water per unit of carrying time. A pyramid-shaped container would hold much less water, or would have to be about the size of the actual pyramid to make it worth while.
Someone in ancient Egypt forgot to apply the bowl logic to the pyramids. The chief architect declared, "Let's have the grain storage unit come to a point. It holds less grain, but it's gnarly, dude." I wonder if he was eventually fired.
Does anyone really care about Dr. Carson's grasp of history? Not really. Except that he's applying for a job that allows him to launch in the neighbourhood of 5,000 nuclear weapons. He gets to make that decision.
Unless…Unless he thinks those missile silos actually contain grain, not civilization-ending bombs.
I'm throwing my hands up and voting for Johnny Carson.
Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson?
This is strikingly similar to a question I asked myself last week – what would I rather die of, necrotizing fasciitis or lewy body dementia?
Dilemmas, dilemmas.
Mr. Carson is actually Dr. Carson. Doctors are smart, aren't they?
Dr. Carson recently said he believes the pyramids were built by the biblical Joseph to store grain.
You know, I'm not really sure how smart the ancient Egyptians were. None of them had PhDs, like Dr. Carson has.
Now keep in mind I'm neither an architect nor a farmer. However, if I were building a structure to hold grain, I would probably built it mostly empty. You know, so it could hold as much grain as possible. That way I'm not constantly riding my camel back and forth to the grain store, to fill up my grain pyramid.
The pyramids are mostly not empty, save for a few tunnels and chambers containing mummified corpses.
They are pretty much solid stone. Wow, someone in Egypt screwed up on the grain holding portfolio. Yet they had the astounding skill to build the pyramid in the first place. Somehow they carved and moved stones the size of bungalows. Confounding, indeed.
Think about a simple water-carrying jug, which I think the Egyptians carried on their heads. What shape is it? Is it tall and bowl shaped, or pyramid shaped, because it looks really cool.
They went with the bowl shape, a great decision. The bowl shape holds more water per unit of carrying time. A pyramid-shaped container would hold much less water, or would have to be about the size of the actual pyramid to make it worth while.
Someone in ancient Egypt forgot to apply the bowl logic to the pyramids. The chief architect declared, "Let's have the grain storage unit come to a point. It holds less grain, but it's gnarly, dude." I wonder if he was eventually fired.
Does anyone really care about Dr. Carson's grasp of history? Not really. Except that he's applying for a job that allows him to launch in the neighbourhood of 5,000 nuclear weapons. He gets to make that decision.
Unless…Unless he thinks those missile silos actually contain grain, not civilization-ending bombs.
I'm throwing my hands up and voting for Johnny Carson.
Thursday, 5 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Costdom?
Helloooo Newman: Costdom?: Freedom isn't free. This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of...
Costdom?
Freedom isn't free.
This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of course. Luminaries like George W. Bush (not to be confused with George H.W., who actually seems like a reasonable guy – maybe the H is for Hey, I don't know everything, maybe a little humility is in order).
But shouldn't freedom be free? Why does it have the word free in it? That's really confusing.
Maybe it's free, but it costs something to ship it to you. Six to eight weeks? Damn, I want out of this marriage now.
Dubya tried to export freedom and boy, the shipping charges on that were a whopper. One trillion and counting.
Or the batteries on freedom are sold separately. Freedom, the action figure.
Maybe it's like Netflix. The first month of freedom is free, then you start with easy monthly payments on your credit card. Freeforthefirstmonthdom.
Or there's Uber freedom. When you feel like being free, you open your app and order freedom to drive you around for a while. Next stop, servitude.
I suppose there must be a tax on freedom – there's a tax on everything, including my workout. Very taxing.
If freedom isn't going to be free from now on, I propose we call it Costdom. So we know what we're getting. Having the word free in freedom, and then charging the customer behind his/her back is just plain dishonest.
I guess Mr. Carson (initially I thought it was Johnny Carson running for Prez) means that we have to spend money to defend freedom.
I can get behind that. But are we defending "freedom"? Aren't we really defending a specific country and a way of doing things?
Freedom is a bad, inaccurate word – just like love. I love my parents and I love how freely available porn is on the internet. Obviously, I'm not talking about the same kind of love, but I have to use the same word. Using "parents" and "porn" in the same sentence makes me want to throw up my stomach lining.
Are we really free? What an annoying question. I never ask it of myself. Except now, for this important educational moment.
Freedom is clearly a relative term. It means nothing unless compared to some other state of being. Like being hung in a closet, auto-erotic style.
Some people are more freer and some are less freer – so let's call it freerdom.
We also have freedom "to" and freedom "from". Being free to watch porn (especially free porn) means I'm free from disease. I can offer free advice on where to find free porn, but that's a later, "free", blog article.
There's also the proverbial "free lunch", which doesn't exist. This means that even if you didn't pay for your lunch, someone has to along the line. We have to call that freeformedom. It was free for me, and I don't give a shit about the other person.
Whatever freedom means, don't underestimate it. In countries like China and Russia, people are not free to read this free article. I think if China or Russia ever do become really free, I'll start charging for this blog. Free them of some of their money.
Speaking of freedom "from", I think I'd like to be free from Mr. Carson as Prez of the USA. This man does not believe in evolution. I'm afraid that for me, believing in evolution is a requirement for any important job, like Librarian or professional Funeral Mourner (a real job!).
Hey, dying ain't free.
This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of course. Luminaries like George W. Bush (not to be confused with George H.W., who actually seems like a reasonable guy – maybe the H is for Hey, I don't know everything, maybe a little humility is in order).
But shouldn't freedom be free? Why does it have the word free in it? That's really confusing.
Maybe it's free, but it costs something to ship it to you. Six to eight weeks? Damn, I want out of this marriage now.
Dubya tried to export freedom and boy, the shipping charges on that were a whopper. One trillion and counting.
Or the batteries on freedom are sold separately. Freedom, the action figure.
Maybe it's like Netflix. The first month of freedom is free, then you start with easy monthly payments on your credit card. Freeforthefirstmonthdom.
Or there's Uber freedom. When you feel like being free, you open your app and order freedom to drive you around for a while. Next stop, servitude.
I suppose there must be a tax on freedom – there's a tax on everything, including my workout. Very taxing.
If freedom isn't going to be free from now on, I propose we call it Costdom. So we know what we're getting. Having the word free in freedom, and then charging the customer behind his/her back is just plain dishonest.
I guess Mr. Carson (initially I thought it was Johnny Carson running for Prez) means that we have to spend money to defend freedom.
I can get behind that. But are we defending "freedom"? Aren't we really defending a specific country and a way of doing things?
Freedom is a bad, inaccurate word – just like love. I love my parents and I love how freely available porn is on the internet. Obviously, I'm not talking about the same kind of love, but I have to use the same word. Using "parents" and "porn" in the same sentence makes me want to throw up my stomach lining.
Are we really free? What an annoying question. I never ask it of myself. Except now, for this important educational moment.
Freedom is clearly a relative term. It means nothing unless compared to some other state of being. Like being hung in a closet, auto-erotic style.
Some people are more freer and some are less freer – so let's call it freerdom.
We also have freedom "to" and freedom "from". Being free to watch porn (especially free porn) means I'm free from disease. I can offer free advice on where to find free porn, but that's a later, "free", blog article.
There's also the proverbial "free lunch", which doesn't exist. This means that even if you didn't pay for your lunch, someone has to along the line. We have to call that freeformedom. It was free for me, and I don't give a shit about the other person.
Whatever freedom means, don't underestimate it. In countries like China and Russia, people are not free to read this free article. I think if China or Russia ever do become really free, I'll start charging for this blog. Free them of some of their money.
Speaking of freedom "from", I think I'd like to be free from Mr. Carson as Prez of the USA. This man does not believe in evolution. I'm afraid that for me, believing in evolution is a requirement for any important job, like Librarian or professional Funeral Mourner (a real job!).
Hey, dying ain't free.
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Take the Brain Train
Helloooo Newman: Take the Brain Train: Today is take your brain to work day. For me, anyway. From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe...
Take the Brain Train
Today is take your brain to work day. For me, anyway.
From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe is the brain.
Its secrets go far deeper than Bill Gates' pockets, or Justin Trudeau's sexy looks.
And scientists are only just beginning to make sense of this riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
Here's an example. One study had males look at two pictures of the same woman side by side and were asked to rate in which picture the woman looked friendlier, or sexier, and a whole bunch of other criteria as well.
As in most studies, there was a trick. The pictures were not quite identical. In one picture, the woman's pupils were dilated and in the other they were wide open.
The men, being the sophisticated apes they are, didn't notice this, as they were too busy shifting their erections around so they wouldn't experience penile snapping in their jeans.
The men overwhelmingly rated the women with the dilated pupils as sexier and friendlier than the same women without the dilation.
Think about that. A completely unconscious process potentially influencing which woman they would mate with.
That's just so…male. And it's not "our" fault. It's our brain. Which is essentially us, but not really. Sort of.
I prefer when a woman's nipples dilate, but that's just me. And yes, I can tell the difference between pictures of dilated and non-dilated nipples. Because I'm porn-smart.
I believe that everything we think of as important in this universe is just made up by the brain – things like personality, self, consciousness, "I", "me", love, faith, who wins the Stanley Cup.
A total illusion. That's what everything is. When your brain is gone, "you", your "self", your erotic dreams – all gone too. That last part is really depressing.
That's why it's so futile to ask the big "why" questions in life. Why am I here? Why do I continually eat burgers with Reese's Pieces inside the meat?
There is no answer, despite the fact that you need one.
The single most important question we can ask is – why is there something, anything, instead of nothing?
You might as well ask why a circle is round.
It is a question that cannot be answered. This is where I part with my buddy Stephen Hawking. That's probably why he won't Facetime me.
Stevie has publicly stated he wants to answer why there is a universe instead of nothing. Points for ambition, that's for sure!
I hate to say it, but Hawking will die, and the why will go on.
The person who never stops asking why is either very bored or being paid to ask it.
Why am I writing this and not eating the picture below?
From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe is the brain.
Its secrets go far deeper than Bill Gates' pockets, or Justin Trudeau's sexy looks.
And scientists are only just beginning to make sense of this riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
Here's an example. One study had males look at two pictures of the same woman side by side and were asked to rate in which picture the woman looked friendlier, or sexier, and a whole bunch of other criteria as well.
As in most studies, there was a trick. The pictures were not quite identical. In one picture, the woman's pupils were dilated and in the other they were wide open.
The men, being the sophisticated apes they are, didn't notice this, as they were too busy shifting their erections around so they wouldn't experience penile snapping in their jeans.
The men overwhelmingly rated the women with the dilated pupils as sexier and friendlier than the same women without the dilation.
Think about that. A completely unconscious process potentially influencing which woman they would mate with.
That's just so…male. And it's not "our" fault. It's our brain. Which is essentially us, but not really. Sort of.
I prefer when a woman's nipples dilate, but that's just me. And yes, I can tell the difference between pictures of dilated and non-dilated nipples. Because I'm porn-smart.
I believe that everything we think of as important in this universe is just made up by the brain – things like personality, self, consciousness, "I", "me", love, faith, who wins the Stanley Cup.
A total illusion. That's what everything is. When your brain is gone, "you", your "self", your erotic dreams – all gone too. That last part is really depressing.
That's why it's so futile to ask the big "why" questions in life. Why am I here? Why do I continually eat burgers with Reese's Pieces inside the meat?
There is no answer, despite the fact that you need one.
The single most important question we can ask is – why is there something, anything, instead of nothing?
You might as well ask why a circle is round.
It is a question that cannot be answered. This is where I part with my buddy Stephen Hawking. That's probably why he won't Facetime me.
Stevie has publicly stated he wants to answer why there is a universe instead of nothing. Points for ambition, that's for sure!
I hate to say it, but Hawking will die, and the why will go on.
The person who never stops asking why is either very bored or being paid to ask it.
Why am I writing this and not eating the picture below?
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