Yearly Archives: 2004

From Looney Lyrics:

(Elmer) Be very quiet I’m hunting rabbits
(E) Rabbit tracks!!!
(E) Kill the rabbit, kill the rabbit, kill the rabbit
(E) Yo ho to oh! Yo ho to oh! Yo ho…
(Bugs) O mighty warrior of great fighting stock
(B) Might I enquire to ask, eh, what’s up doc??
(E) I’m going to kill the rabbit!!
(B) Oh mighty warrior t’will be quite a task
(B) How will you do it, might I enquire to ask??
(E) I will do it with my spear and magic helmet!
(B) Your spear and magic helmet?
(E) Spear & magic helmet!
(B) Magic helmet?
(E) Magic helmet!
(B) Magic helmet
(E) Yes, magic helmet and I’ll give you a sample
(B) Bye
(E) (that was the rabbit)
(E) Oh Brunhilda, you’re so lovely
(B) Yes I know it I can’t help it
(E) Oh Brunhilda be my love
(E) Return my love a longing burns deep inside me
(B) Return my love I want you always beside me
(E) A love like ours must be
(B) Made for you and for me
(B&E) Return won’t you return my love for my love is yours
(E) I’ll kill the rabbit
(E) Arise storms
(E) North winds blow, south winds blow
(E) Typhoons, hurricanes, earthquakes, smog
(E) Flash lightning strike the rabbit
(E) What have I done?? I’ve killed the rabbit….
(E) Poor little bunny, poor little rabbit…
(B) (well what did you expect in an opera, a happy ending???)

Greatest monologue ever? I’ve narrowed it down to three:

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian woman named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

What a pal. Ahhh. This is the good life. Just relax…and let my mind drift. Yeahhhh. I’ll just relax, and think pleasant thoughts…
Chicken pot pie!…Chocolate-covered raisins!…Ehh…Glazed ham!…Heh…heh…heh…they think I’m CRAZY. But I know better. It is not *I* who am crazy. It is not I who am MAD! Didn’tcha hear ’em? Didn’tcha see the CROWDS? Oh my beloved ice cream bar…how I love to lick your creamy center! HOOOWWWWWW….and your oh-so-nutty chocolate covering! You’re not like the others…you like the same things I do! Waxed paper…boiled football leather…dog breath…We’re not hitchhiking anymore! We’re RIDING!

My company had its summer outing yesterday on Thompson Island in Boston Harbor. While waiting for the rest of the employees to show up on the Long Wharf, my wife told me she had to use the bathroom. She went off in search of public facilities while I waited outside in front of the New England Aquarium. As I paced around the area, I saw a large kiosk labelled “City Toilet”. Heather came back a few minutes later — she couldn’t find a bathroom — and I showed her the kiosk. It was roughly 20 feet long, 10 feet deep, with USS Enterprise-style doors. A computer display on the front stated that it cost $0,25 (ooops – incorrect localization!) for 20 minutes. Heather popped in a quarter, the doors slid open, and she entered the kiosk. The doors closed with a “whoosh”.

A few minutes later she emerged, smiling widely. “That was the coolest bathroom ever”, she said. My turn. I went to put my quarter in, but the display stated that it was currently being sanitized, and a progress bar inched towards completion. When it finished, it said “ready” and I inserted my quarter. I was then asked where I wanted the toilet positioned – “left”, “right”, or “center”. I pressed center and then entered.

The room was very spacious with a large mirror (not a traditional public bathroom mirror-like shiny piece of metal), sink, and centered toilet. New Age-y music (Tangerine Dream meets Ty-D-Bowl) was playing over a speaker. I settled myself in and did what I came to do. When I finished, I pressed an ergonomically-placed “flush” button and the bowl emptied.

The sink, like everything else in the room, was completely hands free. There were three labelled areas where I could place my hands – “soap”, “wash” and “dry”. Each was activated via proximity sensors. When I approached the doors, all I had to do was lightly tap the “door open” button with my foot. After the doors closed, I could hear the sanitization process start up.

German engineering at its best.