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What is, the sound of a dryer?
::applause::
I'll take "Onomatopoeia" for $800, Alex. -
Look, I'm really tired today so I'm gonna drop the smarmy act and play this one straight. Dolphins aren't fucking psychic. Dolphins are beautiful creatures who can socialize and communicate on a level that should humble us, but they're not psychic. The evidence of their lack of psychic powers is no doubt legion, but as I am not a marine biologist, I will summarize the body of evidence with the simple observation that there is no such thing as "being psychic."
The website you cite is not exactly what I'd call a reliable source for dolphin-related information. It appears, to this humble Internet traveller, to be a hastily stitched together tapestry of New-Age feel-good garbage. A few red flags:
* Ask a Psychic Medium feature
* Link to an article about Aura Cleansing
* Scientific-sounding talk about brain waves that seems to indicate a deep misunderstanding of what brain waves are and what they do
* This doozy of a sentence: "The night before my first dolphin encounter I tried making contact with the Dolphin Diva, essence of dolphin energy, on the great cosmic telephone through meditation."
I could go on, but my patience for this bullshit wanes. Let it suffice to say that I've had a soft spot in my heart for dolphins since my parents took me to the Baltimore Aquarium as a little boy, but I'm not about to let my sense of awe for one of the planet's most intelligent creature be tainted my some turquoise-necklace wearing wanker with a line of self-published books and some questionable opinions about the year 2012. Dolphins deserve our respect and protection, but we don't need to beleive ridiculous bullshit about their magical powers to think they are beautiful.
PS - Did you know male dolphins also gang rape females? Funny they don't mention that on the website. -
I love you too, Internet person.
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Thank ME? Nay, dear reader. Thank YOU. You have made this humble zinester's day.
This 'zine has been a kind of message-in-a-bottle endeavor for me - words carefully crafted out of desperation and flung headlong into a the silent void to an audience who may not even exist. Well, turn out they do. Holy CRAP, that's cool.
Anyway, now that you mention it, it is about time I did another 'zine drop, so I'll be sure to hit up the East Side and Blue State in particular. Stay tuned for that, I suppose. In the meantime - you are beautiful, anonymous reader. Never let anyone take that from you.
Regards,
-JawsForJesus
PS: Whitey Bulger killed my family. -
Maybe my forehead, which has been described by knowledgeable sources as "David Boreanaz-esque".
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I obtained Conscientious Objector status on the basis of my belief that Western civilization is not worth fighting to defend. Listen to a Top 40 radio station for 15 minutes and see if you disagree.
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did... did I just get spammed on formspring?
If not well then let me tell you "wishfulthinker" you are certainly THINKING WISHFULLY -
Well, look at it this way: the Democratic party has an established history of choosing ineffectual candidates who are guaranteed to fail against even the most absurd competition. And the Republicans, for their part, are always eager to field an attention-starved diva with no qualifications to speak of. So the second part of your question is right there: Miley = Republican, Chex Mix = Democrat.
As far as which would win, well, no brainer. Even though most of her fans can't vote (are either too young or incarcerated on sexual assault charges), the aura of celebrity easily sways enough of the drooling troglodytes America tries to pass off as an electorate. Miley in a landslide. Interesting footnote, though: Would her alter-ego life as Hannah Montana play into her administration? "No way in hell will arch-conservative President Cirus sign that health-care reform bill - but what's this? Bleeding-heart liberal President Montana signed it when no one was looking! Jeepers! What a mess this double-life has lead to!" -
Meet Christopher Schaeffer #1 in high school, have your first head-over-heels puppy dog romance. Screw. Break up when you both leave for college. Never really get over it.
A few years and a string of earnest but ultimately futile relationships later, meet Christopher Schaeffer #2 at a party for a friend you don't talk to anymore. Drink a little bit more than you expected, hit it off great, end the night with #2 in the friend's roommate's bedroom who's out of town for the weekend. He promises to call. To your surprise, he does. Months pass, and you find yourself in what you suppose society considers a Commited, Serious Relationship. And hey, that's great, isn't it? He's cute, kind, and keeps your bed warm at night. You put aside those quiet fears that you're just happy to be comfortable in a relationship again and not actually in love. You marry.
Five years later those quiet fears are singing an operetta to which you have front-row seats every night. Christopher Schaeffer #3 is the new guy at work, and he looks a little bit too much like Christopher Schaeffer #1 for you to be comfortable with. A goodbye party for a coworker during happy hour crashes you into each other like drunk drivers. You feel like shit for it afterward, but you're addicted to the rush now. You let it go on for months before you come home to find #2 crying on the sofa, and you know why before the door even shuts behind you.
He doesn't want to see you, so you go out driving. Inevitably you end up at #3's place. You have a glass of wine and a quiet, pained conversation. There is a knock at the door.
You didn't even know #2 had a gun. Maybe if you'd spent a few more nights at home these past months.
He's still crying, so it takes less than a half minute of struggle to knock the gun out of his hand. #3 flips his shit. He picks up the gun and starts screaming curses at #2. You've never seen someone so close to to blowing a blood vessel before.
Now you've changed targets and are wrestling #3 for the gun. He's stronger than #2 - one of the things that made the sex all the hotter - but now you're wishing you'd actually spent all that time at the gym when you told #2 that was where you were going. The gun is over your heads, clutched in both your hands like it was a branch separating you from a chasm below.
He jerks his hand down hard. The gunshot is the loudest thing you've ever heard in your life, and in the first moment you're surprised how strong the smell is.
In the second moment - well, you've been living the second moment ever since. -
Believe it or not, I usually go with the Shift key. I think I like the steady, punctuating percussion of hitting one key after another with a single digit. With Caps Lock, some of the urgency of the all-caps is lost in the rain-like clatter of two-handed typing.
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Mash my genitals into a thin paste with a hammer. I don't know, write more letters?
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Not too bad, man. Thanks for asking.
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As it turns out, ONLY dogs go to Heaven.
http://www.croxlea.co.uk/RainbowBridge.html -
A fully refurbished, royal blue 1987 Chevy Camaro.
http://jawsforjesus.tumblr.com/post/522276118
God I miss that car. God I miss speeding like I was 17 again. -
This is one of those questions where if you have to ask, you'll never know. Are there people reading this who don't know?
Although, fun fact, Sarge is not far off from my real name. -
Screw the reiki practicioner, to counteract all that not-touching with a healthy dose of, uh, deep-touching, I guess.
Shoot the global warming denier, because they are actively endangering everyone on the planet.
Marry the televangelist, because chances are they will do the FREAKIEST shit in bed. -
Uh, honestly, ask @GhostOrBalloon, he came up with it. To me it sounds like a day honoring mild intoxicants and general self-loathing.
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How am I supposed to answer this question? And who's asking? The CIA? Sorry, Federales, you won't trick me into giving up my location THAT easy. I'M LIKE A GODDAMN CARMEN SANDIEGO OVER HERE
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Cthulhu is to literary nerds as the Flying Spaghetti Monster is to science nerds. Which is to say, a parody of organized religion they can mockingly embrace in a backhanded declaration of "YEAH WELL JUST WATCH ME HOLD YOUR MAINSTREAM CULTURAL VALUES IN CONTEMPT"
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Pain is a neurological response to damaging stimuli, most often experienced as an uncomfortable sensation originating from the area of the body exposed to said stimuli. It can be experienced as a physical sensation, as with a laceration or broken bone, or as a mental state, as with severe depression or anxiety.
Pain is also the name of songs by several bands, including The Game, Three Days Grace, Jimmy Eat World, and Tupac Shakur, among others.
Pain is stumbling upon an ex-girlfriend's facebook page late one night when you are drunk, and discovering she is in a relationship a bit too quickly after your break-up than you would like.
Pain is watching helplessly as the people you love the most just stop caring about their lives.
Pain is bashing your head against the top filing cabinet shelf you forgot you left open when you come back up from filing something in the bottom shelf.
Pain is, for some people, a sexual turn-on.
Modern medical science has developed several approaches to dealing with pain. Anesthetics are administered to patients undergoing surgical procedures to render them unconscious to any sensation during the operation. For minor procedures, such as dental fillings, a topical numbing agent may be used, sometimes in conjunction with a mild euphoriant such as nitrous oxide, popularly known as "Laughing Gas." For those experiencing chronic pain, as the result of an injury, surgical operation, or disease, a doctor may recommend an analgesic (popularly known as a "painkiller") to be taken in pill form. Mild pain can usually be effectively dealt with by a Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drug, the most well-known of which is Aspirin and is widely available over the counter. More severe pain can be addressed with prescription medications, such as an opiod/opiate, such as codeine, hydrocodone, or oxycodone.
As of yet, there is no medically-recognized analgesic that will deaden the pain of seeing them so happy together. Clinical research into the use of opiates to make Dad come home have likewise proved inconclusive.
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JawsForJesus’s Bio
JawsForJesus is a guerrilla publisher currently operating out Providence, Rhode Island. His current 'zine series, The Rhode Island School for the Feeble-Minded, is available on a park bench or coffeeshop windowsill near you.
