Solving for X

Updated May Be Too Strong a Word

2007-07-22T19:04:00.000-07:00

One post does not necessitate hoopla, unless you count the surprising accuracy of prediction #4.
Who would have thought that Ron's seemingly innocent comment to Harry about the book Ron got him for his birthday improving his "wandwork" would be so graphically described?

Later, did anyone else catch this response to Ron's question "Oh my god, is that your wand?": "All eleven glorious inches of it! I can't wait to show Hermione!"

And who can forget this exchange between Harry and Bellatrix (GASP! Sirius's killer):
"Take it, you witch!" Harry cried, his eyes filling with a mixture of ecstasy and regret. Bellatrix cackled, "I barely felt that! Remember what I told you last time? You have to really mean it!"
Harry thrust his wand further. "I do mean it this time!" Harry shouted. "Before you black out, I want the last thing you remember to be the sight of my face hovering over yours."

And then on page 458, when it was revealed that Lupin was NOT in fact bitten by a werewolf, but became excessively hairy because he played too much with his wand under a full moon. Thank goodness Remus revealed the truth before Harry Potter became Harry Palmer.

Potter Predictions

2007-07-20T19:14:00.000-07:00

It's about three hours away from the last Potter book coming out around here, and before I begin reading it tomorrow, I would like to offer the following predictions to see whether or not I would pass my O.W.L. in Divination:

1.Neville Longbottom will play a critical role near the end of the book. What role that will be precisely the tea leaves will not say.

2. At least one of the hoarcruxes is located in 12 Grimmauld Place, having been placed there by Sirius's brother Regulus. Quite possibly Kreacher is hoarding it.

3. Snape turns out to be a good guy, and Dumbledore's faith in him will not have been misplaced. The secret shared between them will have something to do with Snape's secret but unrealized love for Harry's mother.

4. To show beyond a doubt that the Potter series has moved out of the realm of children's fantasy and firmly into the realm of serious adult literature, Harry will get laid.

J.P. Sousa: It's Time To Eat, America!

2007-02-11T18:21:00.000-08:00

It's about time our military leaders took sides in the political arena, and the Colonel was just the man to do it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, down the street from here a hot dog vendor is offering an Obama Foot-Long. My fellow constituents, if there's one thing I can't resist, it's weiners.

J.P. Sousa: Expand the Rights of Restaurant Workers and End Obesity

2007-01-25T20:43:00.000-08:00

My fellow constituents, I am writing to you about a matter of extreme urgency. Right now, at this moment, our nation is faced with a dire threat: morbidly obese people are ruining the appetites of normal people.

In restaurants across the nation, fatsos of all genders and nationalities are consuming food they don't need. Certainly it is not necessary to make you aware of this matter. You've been behind them in line before as they order the 20 McNugget meal and then sit down and consume it all by themselves. Just this evening as I dined at my favorite eating establishment, an enormous woman sat down in front of me. She was so fat that as the rolls of skin cascaded over the top and side of her seat, it actually looked as though her back was trying to consume the chair. I then proceeded to watch, mortified, as this woman consumed not one, but TWO, burritos the size of yule logs.

Is this what our brave men and women and Iraq are fighting for? I say, emphatically, "NO!" We must have change, and we must have it now; otherwise, our most treasured freedom - the right to eat at a restaurant without being disgusted - will be lost forever, and the morbidly obese domestic terrorists will have won.

It is because I value our basic human rights that I urge you to call upon your congresspeople and have them support my latest measure: Bill 6237-3, which will, at long last, give restaurant workers the same rights and responsiblities as bartenders. As I was personally reminded no fewer than nine times last week, if a person at a bar is sloppy drunk, the bartender will say, "Sorry, buddy, it looks like you've had enough." Under Bill 6237-3, restaurant workers will finally be able to say the same thing to the sloppy fat.

Bill 6237-3 will also ensure that restaurant workers will receive the same amount of sensitivity training as bartenders, so they will know what to say. Where bartenders say to the sloppy drunk, "How about some coffee instead," restaurant workers will be trained to say, "Maybe you'd like a rice cake." Where bartenders say, "Let me call you a cab," restaurant workers will say, "Let me call you Jenny Craig."

Only with your immediate and overwhelming support will this bill become law. Write your congressperson today.

$100 million idea #1

2006-12-03T07:51:00.000-08:00

An idea for a Christmas-themed English porno:

Jolly Old St. Knickerless.

Perfesser: All Hail the Majesty of My Caulk!

2006-11-26T19:02:00.000-08:00

I spent most of Thanksgiving weekend with my caulk out. I had been meaning to do it for a while, but the weather had been so cold it was going to make my caulk shrink.

Truth be told, I've always been a little leery of the whole caulk thing. Every time I've played with caulk, it's just remained so bunched up and wrinkly. My caulk has just never turned out very attractive before.

This time, however, I knew the secret: you have to have your fingers a little damp if you want to straighten out the caulk. I also found if you massage your caulk in the opposite direction of the ridges, you can make it smooth in no time. Well, I say no time, but it still took two hours for my caulk to get completely firm.

Anyway, I am exhausted after putting the ol' caulk into every hole and crack I could find, but I think the neighbors were excited to see me getting the job done.

The Whole Not Posting Thing

2006-10-27T19:23:00.000-07:00

My new job has been a bit overwhelming. In fact I've felt like a Barney Fife who's just been reassigned to work with Jack Bauer. The terrorists are about to denonate a dirty bomb and there I am with just the one bullet.

Chad: What Im Going to Say the Next Time I Meet Bill Clinton

2006-08-23T17:42:00.000-07:00

I did not have sexual relations with your daughter Chelsea Clinton.

Boo-ya, el presidentata! That's #4!

Chad Repeats

2006-08-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

Chad: Becky told me not to post this because she thinks its too gross but I say fuck it she's not my girlfriend but she must still have a thing for me

I don't know what I ate but Jesus Christ I took the biggest shit of my entire life last night. it was unbefuckinglievable.

So I'm in the bathroom and I sit down and I think its gonna be in and out like always. Fuck that. That turd starts to come out and then it comes to a complete fuckin stop. Like it changed its mind and wanted back in. And I'm like "I'm not leavin here with no turtle head. You'd best be movin on.'So I'm like keep pushin it out but it doesn't want to go. Its movin slowly and like grabbing the hairs around my asshole and pullin them out too Like this shit is some kind of cat and I'm trying to put it in the bathtub and its got its claws out trying to keep out. I'm thinking if I look at my asshole when its all done I'm going to see like a trail of clawmarks all the way out my ass.So this is like NOT working and I need to do something else. So I kick off my shorts and spread my legs apart cuz I figure I need to get the cheeks spread out to make the hole bigger so I can get this fuckker out. And that still is n't doing any good. So I take off my shoes and socks. Shit I didnt know what to do. Now I've got one leg hanging over the side of the tub and the other wrapped around the base of the sink and I'm like "Move motherfucker! Get the fuck out of me!"

And I'm thinking crazy shit you know? I'm thinking this is like having a baby and I'm SERIOUSLY considering telling one of the guys to get a set of tongs so I can extract this motherfucker manually. Can you imagine that? Tyler walks in and I'm digging in my ass with a pair of salad tongs going "Get it out get it out!" Shit.

And I'm sweatin like a mug. I'm moppin my sweat with toilet paper cuz theres no towels. So I've got this mound of wet soggy toilet paper and I take off my shirt cuz I'm getting tired of tearing off all that paper and I'm also getting afraid there's not going to be any left when I'm done taking this shit.

But its goin. Spreading my legs like Heather Saganzo after four beers is working. But then it all stops. I've got this goddamn Humvee hanging out of my ass and then like the troops start shouting "Fire in the hole!" And I start ripping these hugely massive farts. Like I didn't think there was any room left in there but these farts keep sneakin around the side of the turd shaking it like it was some redwood tree ready to fall. How the fuck did those farts get in there in the first place?!

I had a friend once who I swear to God had a turd form around a fart. Like there was this piece of shit, right, but if you cracked it open it would be hollow inside and this fart would come out. I didn't think it was possible but we flushed that fucker 14 times and it would swirl to the bottom but always come floating right back up. It was unbefuckinglievable.

So finally FINALLY I get the goddamn thing out. Jesus Christ that thing hurt. I'm like "Oh God!" so loud that my friends probably think I'm busting a nut in there. It's been like half an hour and its finally over. And I swear to God I wasn't going to llok. But you spend that much time on something and you want to see what you accomplished. So I get up and turn around and honest to god I thought I was actually going to see a brick. People say they shit a brick but I thought I really had. I was ready to look and see this massive shit covered brikc and I was going to be like When the fuck did I eat this fucking brick?" There was no brick but the thing took up half the toilet. It was in two pieces like it was the fucking Titanic and couldn't support its own weight. And its a goddam good thing it did break to cuz if it had all come out in one piece I would have had to finish shitting standing up. There was that much and I'm like there is no way that mother is gonna flush down on its own and it will NEVER go down if I put any toilet paper in there. So I tried flushing it down solo and of course backed the whole toilet up. So now what the hell am I supposed to do?

I can't put my clothes back on cuz I can't wipe my ass and the plungers in the other bathroom. I am totally fucked. But then I get this brilliant fucking idea. I take down the shower curtain and wrap it around me like a damn toga but keep it loose so that I won't wipe my ass on it. I go over to the other bathroom, take off the shower curtain, wipe my ass, get the plunger, put the shower curtain back on, go back to the other bathroom, get rid of Shit Mountain, put my clothes back on, hang the shower curtain back up, and then go to my room where I pass out.

And while I'm passed out I have a dream about screwing the hell out of Misha Barton, who makes #3 on the list.

Call Me Chad

2006-08-14T19:31:00.000-07:00

What is there to say about Chad? He came about during a trip to Europe. Y'know how there's supposedly this perception in Europe that Americans are uncultured assholes? Well, that perception is based on an accurate assessment of just about every American college student my friends and I met.

Chad was our universal name for every pussy-chasing, beer-bonging frat boy we came across. Chads would tell us things like, "If you like dark chicks, Seville is THE place to go."

But Chad cracks me up. He's got no hidden agenda so he feels completely free to express himself however he wants and about whatever subject he feels like. Although the number of subjects he talks about is very small.

Chad's list of 101 not only comes from a real movie but was also really an activity about three of my friends engaged in one night while drinking. The rules stipulated that a woman nominated to the list had to be approved by at least one other member. So it was very democratic.

Not one girl we knew was left off of the list.

101
Did you guys ever see a movie called My Momma got Thrown off a Train? Its pretty gay but there's this one guy on the movie who writes a book called 101 Women I Want to Pork. Ans it sells like 1 million books. So I'm gonna start my own book like that but I'm gonna change pork to do so poeple dont get offended.

My first one comes from reading this guys blog who's like got a total hardon for fantasy shit. But he's right about one thing. Elves are so tasty. Has anyone seen Liv Tyler in that Lord of the Rings movie? If I was that Frodo guy I'd be all like "oh no I got stabbed and I'm dying. The only thing that can save me is to get nasty with a hot elf chick. Gandalf told me." And she'd be all "Whatever you say. Your the ringbearer." And I'd be like "You got any hot elf friends cuz that's make me get better a whole lot faster." And she'd be like "I'll get my friend Alicia Silverstone."

And that makes number one AND number two.

Jeb: wut a dae

2006-08-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

mah pee iz purpil. haz thet hapind tu aneewun els? thu peepul givin me thu medissin fer tu tri sed thet thet wuz varee intrusting an tu lit thim no ef it turnd anee diffrunt culurz. thin agin it mite hev ben al thu skitulz i bin eetin. butt i ownlee lahk thu gren wunz so thet dont mayk no sins eethur.

aftur wurk i startid wurkin on mah noo burd hows. sum peepul arownd heer tri tu mayk skairkroz tu keepe thu kroz uway (an i wuz wun fur ubowt too sumerz butt thet iz a storee fer latur), butt I liyk tu bild burd howsiz fer thim. I mayk thim big and fansee. owtsiyd thu hows i putt a litul portch with portch furnichur an all. i liyk tu think uv thim liyk a litul mareed cuppul an wutnot. Thay wood bee sitin on thu porch havvin a snak an talkin bout there dae. i eevin hav a litul playt thet i putt burd sede kookeez on an a big ol pitchir thet i putt watur in butt i preeten its lemminaid.

yup, i lahk tu sit on mah portch an wach the litul ol mistur an missuz kro on thair portch az thu sun sits beehine mah corn feeldz. thay tahlk ubowt how mutch corn thay dun stol frum owt mah feeldz an abowt how mad ol jeb got win thay krapt on hiz pikup. thay laff an laff abowt thet. Mah how thay laff. thay laff untill wun dae mebee its thu heet or mebee missuz kro ketchez mistur kro with sum yung hussie butt thiss dae thu laffin stahps cuz missuz kro putts antyfreez in thu lemminaid an rat poyzun in thu burd sede kookeez. its wun uv them thair mirdir sooisidz. an thin its ol jeb hoo laffs. Mah how i laffs.

i nevur sed i lahk kroz. i jis dont kair fer skairkroz.

Call Me Cuzzin Jeb

2006-08-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

When my friend and I began working in the college theatre scene shop together, we were a little out of our element. Not complete idiots, merely incomplete idiots.

One day our job was to build and paint a series of flats. To build the flats, we had to screw together a wood frame with center braces, screw a thin sheet of wood to the frame and braces, and then we needed to paint both the sheet and the frame.

After we finished all that work, our supervisor informed us that we had put the frame together wrong and would need to take the whole thing apart, redo it, and touch up the paint.

So we took the screws out and tried to lift off the sheet, but the thing wouldn't come off. So we checked around all the edges: no screws. We tried taking it off again. We could still get it about halfway off but not all the way. We couldn't figure out what the problem was. Then we remembered the paint. The paint must have slipped in between the sheet and the frame and bonded the two together. Damn strong paint, but if you've ever tried to open a window that's been painted shut, you know it really can be that bad.

We each took a prybar to opposite sides of the flat. We wedged it in as far as we could, and then at the same time we forced up the prybar fast and hard...and tore the holy shit out that sheet of plywood because we forgot to take out the screws that had connected it to the center brace.

My friend and I looked at each other and that ruined flat for a long time until my friend said, "I think we just made, as Dennis Miller says, a Cousin Jethro sized mistake - rope-belt and all."

Since then, we've taken to calling each other "cuzzin" -- even more so after performing in a children's tour at a rural school where, as my Crazy Cuzzin Leroy led a child to his seat, the child said, " I smell like pigs! That's 'cause I been playin' with them all mornin'."

Cuzzin Jeb is sort of a stereotypical hick, but at heart his problem, as Wendell Berry puts it, is an old one: too much power, too little information. I love writing in his persona because I never quite know what he is going to wind up doing and i git too spel thangz funnee:

mah naym iz jeb an I liyk to kik thangz

it dont matur wut it iz. sumtiymz I kik rox or uthur tiymz i kik sum gras. Wun tiym I thot i wuz kikkin a smal rok but it wuz a big rok thet wuz bareed way down deep in thu grownd. thet hirt. reel bad. mah fut got all swoled up an i coodnt git it owt uv mah boot butt lahk me an mah cuzzin leroy alwayz say ef it caint bee fixt with a klawhammur it caint bee fixt so i tuk a big ol long nayl an hammurd it intoo mah boot to mak it stay an thin i cood pull it owt reel fast. thet didnt wirk neethur cuz i put thet nayl intoo mah big to. ef i thot thet kickin thet rok hirt i didnt no nuthin abowt hirt cuz the nayl reelee hirt bad. an I wint to the hosspitul an so now i got no big to but I tuk a tortch too the ind uv mah klawhammur an i stuk it insiyd mah boot ware mah big to yoost too bee an now i kin kik thangz even bettur. lahk I sed ef it caint bee fixt with a klawhammur it caint bee fixt

Call Me J. P. Souzah

2006-08-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

In my freshman year of college, a good friend of mine who had become an editor for the student paper approached me about writing a weekly column. I agreed and quickly adopted the alter-ego J. P. Souzah. I thought I needed to put a buffer between my outlandish opinions (about such controversial topics as girls' farting and how to overcome writer's block) and my readers. Since the column eventually used a high level of irony and dealt with somewhat weightier topics, this turned out to be a good idea. One reader failed to appreciate the delicate layering of dramatic irony of one column about homelessness and demanded my friend the editor tell him where he could find that racist asshole so he could give him a piece of his mind.

I enjoy being Souzah for brief periods of time. The best aspect of writing him is being able to make absolutely ridiculous claims based on the thinnest lines of logic. For those who debated in high school, Souzah is the guy who could link any plan (from reforming Social Security to revamping the prison system) to nuclear war. "And this is why you must vote Negative. To do otherwise will invite a nuclear holocaust that your grandchildren's grandchildren will still curse you for."

In his current incarnation J. P. Souzah is your elected representative. Here is his latest legislative effort (previously posted on his own now-deleted blog):

Why We Need My Definition of Marriage Amendment

My fellow citizens, we live in precipitous times. The war in Iraq, the looming deficits in Social Security, and the nationwide failings of our school systems confront us on a daily basis. This is why we need to prevent homosexuals from getting married.

As we all know, marriage is the bedrock institution of our country. It is the fidelity that comes from a man and woman exchanging sacred vows that creates all the goodness our great nation enjoys. Children are happier; spouses are happier. The trust established in marriage carries across to trust in other institutions: the White House, the church, and the banks. We must not make a mockery of marriage so that a few million perverts can thumb their noses at an American society that traces its roots back thousands of years.

Many people on both sides of the aisle see this issue as a diversion from the important topics of the day -- many of which I have indicated above -- but these people fail to see that eliminating the prospect of gay marriage will actually SOLVE these problems.

Everyone knows that the terrorists object to America's godless ways. This amendment sends a clear signal to them that we are not as Godless as they believe. They hate immorality; we hate immorality and will codify it into our Constitution. After passing this amendment, the terrorists will see the error of their thinking and soon the war in Iraq will just fade away.

Scientific studies have shown that people in happy marriages live longer lives while those who live angst-filled lives die sooner. Denying homosexuals the right to marry and showing them that all decent citizens are opposed to them will certainly fill them with stress, thus decreasing life expectancy and easing the burden on Social Security.

Finally, school scores will increase thanks to this amendment. A teenager’s life is full of doubt and uncertainty. As the teenager’s budding sexuality begins to emerge, his mind is filled with questions such as, “Why do I like boys, and what will society think of me if I express these feelings?” This amendment will definitively answer these questions: “You’re a perversion of God’s law, and we don’t look kindly on perverts.” The clarity of these responses will take all doubt out of him and allow him to focus on the all-important standardized tests that we use to measure the worth and potential of every student.

Any one of these reasons would be enough to vote for the current amendment that the President is suggesting. My amendment goes further, however.

Since we now know how truly important marriage is to the welfare of our country, we now know that it cannot be squandered. That is why my amendment would prevent celebrities from marrying. Looking at any supermarket tabloid one can see that these people do not take the institution of marriage seriously enough to be allowed to have it.

I have also proven that the fidelity inherent in the marriage vows is what provides the benefits to society. This is why my Constitutional amendment requires potential spouses to take a lie detector test before exchanging vows to establish whether or not they will be sufficiently honest and loyal.

The final advantage that my amendment has over the current one being debated is that it imposes an annual $100,000 fine on single people over the age of 18. If marriage is as important as the rest of my fellow lawmakers say it is, let them support my amendment -– which is the ONLY one which really encourages people to marry. And once they are married, either through the machinations of true love or an arrangement between their parents, these newlyweds will experience the wonder and bliss that marriage provides and that will forever be denied to the homosexuals, the celebrities, and anyone who lies.

Support the Souzah Amendment today!

Call Me Connor MacLeod

2006-08-05T20:08:00.000-07:00

When you don't post anything for over a month, you shouldn't need more than one blog. All of the various blogs I've been working on I've now consolidated into this one.

I fully claim all of my alter-egos. The first post here was a load of crap. I know who I am, although I don't always like it. Well, that's life, right?

For the next couple of days, I'm going to bring back old posts from other blogs (so I've got a record of all of them in one place) and let you know who these characters are and how they came to be. After that, I'll just start posting more regularly (hopefully) -- screw literary pretentiousness.

Call Me Stan

2006-06-01T20:01:00.000-07:00

It's quite early in our relationship, but I need something from you.

Very soon I will be walking in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. The whole relay is a metaphor really: a journey that begins at dusk, night deepens, darkness threatens to overwhelm. But with help of others who share the burden, dawn soon appears. A glorious morning waits for those who persevere. If you look at the idea without cynicism, it's a beautiful belief.

What I need from you, if you are able, is a donation to help with the cancer research this event supports. Any amount helps. Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Thank you.

Call Me X

2006-05-31T19:59:00.000-07:00

As a kid learning to spell my own name, I found it fascinating that people who were illiterate could sign their name with an X. In the movies they signed with a hesitant hand – a scrawl from upper left to lower right, upper right to lower left. The sound of quill scratching paper: a rake across parched earth.

Looking forward to a lifetime of literacy, I thought about how barren their lives must be without the classics – Curious George Visits the Hospital; One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish; Donald Duck and the Mystery of the Missing Peanuts. Now I think about how much my life has been enriched by Edward Abbey, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Isaac Asimov, William Shakespeare, William Carlos Williams, Arthur Miller, Wendell Berry, and Brian Michael Bendis. I cannot imagine what it must be like to stand outside the world of the printed word – never understanding, let alone enjoying, the ideas and passions that text contains.

So here I sit in front of a computer screen—not scrawling but typing—thinking about that X. “Make your mark here.” “Give me your John Hancock.” “Lorenzo Ghiberti hoc fecit.” That drive to leave something behind, a record of ourselves, some kind of statement of who were and what we believed – that’s an ancient desire, an essential part of what makes us human. “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: / Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!” But what mark can an illiterate leave? X. Nothing.

And what is a blog? A public diary? A soapbox? A monumental waste of time for both blogger and reader?

I guess as I approach this space, I see myself trying to leave a record of my life. But what should I be trying to save? What is my life about? Who am I?

A friend of mine put it well when talking about the friends he had made over the last few years in a city far from where he grew up: “In short, my life is very different than it once was, as yours is. The people who know me now don't know stage Nathan or Cuzzin Leroy. In fact, not having people around who know my history leaves me wondering who it is that these people here know.”

X: an illiterate’s signature, an unknown variable, a nameless heritage. That perhaps is me.

That is me. Call me X.

But X is more than an unknown. It’s two intersecting diagonal lines. Four angles that open to the cardinal directions. A suggestion of possibility within the confines of a limitation.

That’s me for this week. Who are you?