Feed the Taco

I don’t really watch TV anymore, aside from what I get off the internet or when I’m waiting on a wash machine in some strange location. I hear that power ranger show is still going. How is that even possible? I wonder if the writing got any better. When I was a kid, I loved the show for awhile. But I started getting upset; the bad guys never deserved to win. Their tactics sucked, they had the ability to send tons of monsters to this planet but usually just sent one. Unless of course they decided to send a whole bunch of old defeated monsters to fight, but those guys got wrecked. After a super hard fought battle, the bad guys would just give up. Why not just send more monsters? Or send in more of those puddy things? If the rangers were really that drained, the minor minions should finish them easily.

Also, the rangers had to defeat every monster twice, once on the ground and again in their zords.Here was a huge flaw in the bad guy tactics; the zords were way more powerful than the rangers. And when the zords formed together as one, it was like fighting a god of war. What were the bad guys thinking? Why didn’t they A. send more monsters to help out and destroy the zords or rangers on the ground. B. just destroy at least one zord unmanned (the bad guys could watch the battles from the moon, couldn’t watch the zords go back into their hiding spot?) or C. kill one of the rangers when they haven’t morphed? Without one member of the team, they couldn’t form into a complete unit and the good guys would be screwed! The show was about team work right, well, there is no team in death! Honestly. I remember one episode the bad guys snuck into a ranger’s room but didn’t kill the ranger. They stole her doll. What are they thinking? She was right there, they teleported right next to her! Why didn’t they just shot her in the head and say good game. Or teleport the ranger into the sun. Or just summon a giant monster to step on the ranger’s house while they were sleeping!

Also, how’d this little group of “rangers” manage to outfit and maintain so many weapons of mass destruction without any government involvement? They never got any funding or resources, yet they always seemed to have all the ammo and raw materials they needed. Repairs never took more than a couple of minutes. These monsters would knock those machines all over the place, but the machines were brand new the next day. Also, why’d the monsters only attack one city? Why not just go all over the place and kill off humanity? Without any support those rangers would eventually die, who’d feed them and drive them to their “juice bar?

Who knows, maybe that show actually has some good writers. Someone who’s read the art of war like, 40 times. That’d be awesome. No way am I going to watch it, because I know the version in my head is far better than anything their 4 dollar budget is going to create. Sometimes dreams truly are better than reality.

Every time I see a café press shirt the same story goes through my mind. Someone makes a website on geocities. The kind of site with spinning gifs scattered all about with no thought to layout, content, or copyright laws. Often the designer(s) have no knowledge of html and just use a template like your common blogger. Geocities was basically the blog of the early 90’s. Only instead of telling all of 4 visitors about your day you talk about your cat, girlfriend, or post pictures from the yearbook and get harassing phone calls from your friend’s parents fearing the cyberstalkers are already in their bushes because their child’s photo made it onto the porn hub that is the internet (funny, because now those cyberstalkers will find you with the magic of blogs. No one found a damn thing besides ads with Geocities). At this point, the site has about three and a half pages connected crudely together through a list of links at the center of the main page and someone gets the great idea to “make T-shirts.” These “designers” had no idea how to make a website. How do you think they’ll make a T-shirt? Exactly the same way. Only now it's on a Hanes’ unisex shirt, teddy bear, mug, and bumper sticker.

The story ends and you find yourself once again looking at a café press shirt wondering if anyone actually buys these things. I’m sure some people use café press for reasons that make sense. Like going to weird shirt party and labeling yourself and all your friends so you have an icebreaker. Perhaps you want your peers to read your blogs while afk and post them on t-shirts (I also hate these people). This usually isn’t the case, people think they can make a little money by putting some junk on a T-shirt and selling it (the rummage sale of shirts). But that’s the problem; your shirt has no creative design. You don’t even see the shirt modeled; it’s just a standard +1 shirt with a gif pasted in the center.

Now I sympathize, I know a guy who works on a website and wants to sell some shirts. The profits (if any came about) would cover his domain name and bandwidth costs. It’d also help advertise the site and perhaps even pay for a veggie burger. But he realizes this is one of those things that needs to be professionally done (or he should learn how to do it professionally), otherwise the end result is going to be an iffy product not worthy of his name. Long story short, if you care enough to sell it to others; care enough to sell something you’d use yourself.

The florescent bulb in the kitchen is burning out or something. It looks like someone’s about to get murdered every time you go to make a sandwich. Those flickering rays of light wash away all desire to live the more they bath your body. I’m not sure if our landlord is supposed to deal with dying light bulbs or if the idiots being taxed for shelter are, as such no one has touched the thing. Literally, no one. I’d rather spread mystery condiments over whatever I pulled out of a baggie in the dark than risk another barrage of suicide waves.

I wonder if there have been any studies about the blind being more depressed because of their lack of light. It seems to destroy the will to live of those who can see. I guess that’d be a hard study, blind people have more than their fair share to be depressed about. It may make a difference if they were born blind or not. But who knows, maybe the level of light does things to a blind person’s mood as well. They can feel the light after all.

Let’s face it, most of us fear death. We see it all the time and really have no freakin’ clue what happens during it. It’s a mystery is what it is and we fear the worst. When we look towards our own death, we consider what others will think. Will they enjoy it, will they mourn, will the funeral serve free drinks? Perhaps the worst thing we fear is our own doubts. That voice in our heads that always screams when we glance into the mirror or talk to a pretty member of the opposite sex (or same if you’re into that kind of thing). The voice that points out all the flaws and desires we may have at any given moment. This is the voice that looks towards the sun and watches it bleed into night. The most beautiful and grand of deaths.

“If only our corpse could look that great,” it says to us as we watch sunsets with our loved ones or alone from our rooms. If only our passing could plunge so many into darkness. That’s the worst part about dying, the sun does it everyday and there is no way we can even consider our passing to be in anyway as grand as that. Combined with only our ability to only think about ourselves, this creates quite a forlorn situation for those who look towards their own death and the lack of need for a moon

Tacolord is in his “mortality” mood again. This is when he realizes he still hasn’t become famous yet and questions how much longer he has to live. The guy acts like being on the Colbert Report is the secret to happiness. I understand Taco has a limited time on this Earth, what with Vanessa Carlton building an army of demons in a single effort to kill him. But that’s not a reason to start giving up Zen in order to work on a lame website.

Of course he makes arguments like, he needs to leave behind something to help guide the world towards realizing their absurdity but look how great that worked out for Becket, the guy is freakin’ studied by academics. ACADEMICS! One of the fathers of absurdism, being broken down by idiots paying untold thousands of dollars to have some professor tell them what a meaningless play “means.”

And we have Jenni. That chick that he dedicates tons of stuff to in an attempt to bring her along towards his grab at immortality. Yea, what a gift. You end up getting so famous that you leave a footnote towards this chick so “artists” can take pilgrimages to her house to steal tampons and ask for hugs. What a honor! In 16 years I'm sure every woman is going to ask for a following of idiot, touchy-feely hippies.

Man, people need to stop worrying about dying and spend more time sitting around doing nothing. Bunch of over-educated, production fearing, smarties is what ya’all are.

As a member of Zombie slayer, chapter 7, it is my duty to aid in the eradication of zombies. Often a zombie apocalypse begins with just a few zombies. So me and a couple of guys have establish a patrol to hunt zombies to keep the risk of infection at a minimum. Today marks the end of our 12^th patrol. It was another slow night, usually we get bored around an hour or two into the watch and decide to work on the anti-zombie propaganda. We go to coffee houses and read poetry about Zombies being asshats and put posters up calling zombies jerks and telling people to sever the head or destroy the brain on sight. This was the poem I did today:

Zombie Hate Poem

In the election booth, the zombies vote down
another school funding proposal. Claiming
our children’s brains are only here to serve
as nourishment for stomachs, not culture and
and conversation.

”Every parent knows their kids suck, why else
do they banish them to public schools and
throw them down stairs? We do them a favor by
eating them,” one zombie said exiting the poles.

Another zombie currently sits in your favorite
restaurant, smoking cigarettes and screaming
fart jokes no one finds funny. His punch line
always involves throwing his decaying flesh on
someone’s plate.

Hey workers, wondering why you can’t get a
job? Why not ask the Zombie who doesn’t need
sleep, yea. He isn’t hard to find, he’s sitting at
your desk, all day and night.

That’s right, America for the living. Death to the
undead.

Oh yea, Zombies said your religion sucks almost
as much penis as the woman who carried
you in her womb for 9 months. And you smell.

Currently, we’ve yet to see any Zombies. Which goes to show what a great job we’re doing. We’re really making an impact and keeping the world safe for the living. And vampires. Man vampire chicks are hot. I’d like to fang me some of that!

I spent the most of yesterday helping move my ninja buddy out of his old place. He’d recently fallen on some hard times with all the current war stuff going on. Some people may say an open war should really help a ninja out and give him tons of work. Unfortunately for him, most of the fighting and assassinations are taking place in the Middle East and Bob isn’t really into hot weather. Also, all he wears is black and that isn’t a great camouflage for a desert landscape. In addition to that, the government doesn’t hire “Free Lance” work these days. Weird, an organization that is famed for crushing unions and worker revolts like suffocating worms has a very tight and exclusive labor organization with some wicked job protection. The other side of the job market isn’t much better, most of their jobs involve blowing yourself up. Not a tempting job offer.

We had to load up the truck and take his stuff to his mom’s basement. I’ve helped guys move back home before, but none of them seemed as crashed as one who used to take life for a living. After the 8^th box of shuriken I was getting sick of carrying throwing stars.

”Look Bob, your mom’s basement can’t hold all this garbage. And that is what this box is filled with, garbage. Seriously dude, you need to watch some ‘Clean Sweep’ and organize this junk. How many ninja actually use 8 giant boxes of ninja stars?”

Bob was pretty upset, telling me how I didn’t know anything about his line of work and a “philosopher-poet” had no right to criticize anyone with a real profession. I learned a valuable lesson after this, telling someone you have more right to criticize their profession because they can’t find a job in it, when that profession is a ninja and he’s helping you carry a large box filled with tools of death is a bad idea. Long story short, he lost his security deposit.

Man, I hate helping people move.

I’ve known for awhile that I can undress far faster than most people. I can even flash faster than the flash! As such, I’m issuing a challenge to all the attractive women in world. A naked contest. Who can undress the fastest? Myself or you? Granted, I may have an advantage because I don’t have to wear a bra, but you don’t have to either. Just a note. If you want to challenge me, lets get together at my place. We’ll both get dressed together, just to make sure no one has an extra advantage and at the starting of the clock, get naked as fast as possible in the best 2 out of 3 or 5 out of 7 times. More if necessary. Remember ladies, this isn’t just a contest, this a trial of the sexes!

So I got this invitation to a party the other day. I would have told you about it sooner, but I didn’t want a lot of uninvited people showing up. The weirdest thing though, the person throwing it was dead. Was this stuff sent like, before their death or what? The post mark was after the ninja star accident, so I decided to go to find out. Maybe they faked it and are having an "I'm still living party." Perhaps she became a zombie or some other member of the undead and wanted to celebrate their new found immortality and feast on the guests.

When I arrived, I was really embarrassed at first. Everyone was dressed up, apparently this was a high class kind of deal. Odd given the party thrower's complete lack of class. Luckily I had a pretty cool sweater in the car, so I was able to pull off the "cool guy casual look." The catering wasn’t too good; I saw a huge line and figured the box at the end was where the food was kept. Probably a cooler or something filled with drinks. I started having a bad feeling with all the tears people had when they walked away. None of them had drinks either and I was starting worry the box was filled with Diet Rite. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry if that was the case.

Upon reaching my turn, I looked into the box and what did I see? A dead body! What kind of party was this? I was freakin’ out. Everyone was lining up to see this chick decked out and dead. Her mother noticed me totally losing it and pulled my head into her breasts, I’m not really sure why. Generally I wouldn’t mind, but this lady was doing this in front of her dead daughter and decided to throw it a party. She knew I was a poet and asked me to say something to the crowd.

So I walked up front and looked at everyone and this is what I said. “What is going on here people? There is a dead body in that box over there. A dead freakin’ body! Why is everyone dressed up for this? What, are you afraid of the being outdone by a corpse? I’ve noticed she looks way younger than she did when she was alive. So everyone decided they had to dress extra nice in order to compete? What, no one wants to remember those years or something? I mean, come on people, there’s a dead body in the room and you’re trying to out dress it! What, are you afraid someone may leave you for it? News flash, you don’t want to date someone into decaying shells! At least put it in the ground or something. We can’t just leave dead bodies all over the place as if it’s last week’s fad. Those things need to be disposed of otherwise we’re going to end up with another black plague or something."

At that point, I left. This was one party I didn’t want to stay with. By the outrage in everyone’s eyes, I think they agreed with me. This was one stupid idea of a party.

I’ve been beta testing my new hug machine. Sometimes people need hugs and I was like, how do we send them hugs without enslaving 1000’s of Chinese children to do our hug bidding? Simple, advanced robotics! The machine works through a series of variables upon viewing a target to determine if they need a hug. Based on cleanliness, posture, isolation, and other indications that may say how lonely they are. I’ve been noticing more people hiding from the world with cell phones and i-pods. This is a growing concern of mine and hopefully the Hug-o-tron can bring those poor souls back into the world they hate so much. I’ve even added a nice quota feature, if the machine hasn’t given so many hugs in a day, it’ll begin randomly assigning targets hugs. I bet this will be a nice addition, since the Hug-o-tron should make everyone happier and reduce the need for hugs. If the hug demand suddenly drops because everyone is happy, they may stop being happy if the Hug-o-tron stops giving hugs and the problem would start over again. And that would make me and everyone else sad.

Let’s just hope I don’t have a repeat of the Kitten-Cannon 400. Sometimes it’s worth the wait of delivering a kitten by foot and not firing it from a cannon at someone who needs cheering up.

I’m starting to feel like Tyler Durden. Only instead of trying make a better society for the unseen masses the world that keep it running, I’m just trying to destroy logic. My neutral twin brother, MaximumTacolord, has been doing it for awhile at his website, www.tacolord.com. But I think he’s missing out on prime resources here in the blog world. Consider it, there are millions of people here who defy logic everyday and write about their life for dozens to ignore. These are soldiers without a general, I could be the general to lead them to edges of oblivion! With a little guidance I’m sure they’d stop eating dog food long enough to change the world. Hmm, perhaps Taco was right about ignoring the bloggers, but that’s no reason for me to stop now. There are no reasons.


In other news, So me and Jenni have been talking about bringing absurdity to relationships. We’ve experimented with boredom tactics, leaving your partner tied to the bed and walking away to play Tekken. It leaves them alone to wonder what will happen next. We’ve set up a bet to see how long it’d take the person tied up to go nuts. My wager rests around the three day marker. With a little luck, in three days I’ll be the proud owner of a new tickler. Apparently Jenni used to be a dominatrix, but one summer she left all her stuff in the garage and her mom took it. Now she doesn’t want it backIn retrospect, I don’t really care if I win this bet. But I do like the thought of Jenni in leather.

Shut up because I love you.