Monday, June 20th, 2011 | Author:













The debate over assisted suicide is a complicated one.
But in general I believe if life becomes no longer bearable without any hope of ever getting better, than a person should be able to have control over his own life and decide to end it. I understand that there’s slippery slopes.
But we all got to push off this mortal coil some time.

So I generally support physician assisted suicide.

Unfortunately the man who is best associated with being pro “right to die” has a face like this:

Wookit the adorable face of Death.

The late Dr. Jack Kevorkian.
Did he have to look like the embodiment of Death?!

Even when he’s trying to smile, he looks like Death.

That face!

It was the LAST face seen by the 130 people who were assisted into the Great Beyond by Dr. Jackie K. himself.












If I’m pushing off this mortal coil, I would want someone to have a friendly face to escort me to whatever (if anything) comes after.
Not a jaundice, wrinkled man with bulging eyeballs looking like the personification of the Angel of Death.

I understand that its wrong to judge the man by his looks. I’m sure he was a fine gentleman, a humanist who enjoyed painting and composing music.
But doing what he did and looking how he looked… it’s just unfortunate.



My ideal escort would be someone with a sense of humor. Cuddly and gentle without any potential to arouse any fear.


I want Death to be the most huggable black man in America.

Al Roker.


Just look at that face!















Now look at that face about to eat a hot dog.
















Just look at it! LOOK!


Yessir, if I’m pushing off this mortal coil, let it be Al to escort me and I will die that death like a death ought to die.

Category: Opinion  | Tags: , ,  | Leave a Comment
Sunday, June 20th, 2010 | Author:
– Don’t you hate that?
– Hate what?
– Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit? In order to be comfortable?
– I don’t know. That’s a good question.
– That’s when you know you found somebody really special, when you can just shut the fuck up for a minute. Comfortably share silence.
For me, conversation (especially the smalltalk variety) is an anxiety filled nightmare for me.
Until I do find that really special person in which I can share an awkward silence comfortably, I try my darndest to keep the conversation going; Keep that hot potato hopping, that shark breathing by the filling the air with sound and fury.
Or else… it’s dead silence and the slow realization on my conversation partner’s face appears because she has discovered my secret. That at heart, I am nothing but a boorish philistine with nothing significant or interesting to say about anything.
Sweaty with desperation to be liked, I obsessively try to think of conversation topics beforehand and write them on notecards to refer to later. I prepare the way talk show hosts do by having prepared topics listed on notecards.
I imagine that there are those for which conversation flows easily and there are those who are well-versed in many subjects and always have an interesting witty anecdote to deliver. Essentially the image I have of Oscar Wilde at a party. Always erudite with a refined wit with which he uses to be the life of the party.
So I got the idea that I too could say something interesting on any topic if I do some research and find some conversationally interesting thing to say about anything. I decided to go through the entire dictionary and find at least 1 interesting thing to say about each and every word in the dictionary. This would serve as my conversational lubricant reference book where I could look through for sweet juicy morsels of ice breaking conversation lubricant.
I’ve tried this ambitious idea several times, always starting with “aardvark”s but never getting anywhere past it.
Somewhere in my studies of the Chinese language I got a book that has the 3000 most frequently used Chinese characters. I was looking at this book, while thinking about my conversational lubricant reference book. There are over 171,000 words in the English dictionary. But 3000 Chinese characters doesn’t sound impossible. Not only that, but it could help me learn Chinese by thinking up interesting things to say about each character. Moreover, each Chinese character doesn’t necessarily map exactly to one word as many Chinese words are made up of several characters. This means I can get a little more freedom for interpretation of a “word” to find interesting things to say about it.
So now I will begin my Chinese Conversational Lubricant Reference Book!
Wikipedia says topics of conversation are categorized into 4 major categories:
  • Conversations about subjective ideas, which often serve to extend understanding and awareness.
  • Conversations about objective facts, which may serve to consolidate a widely-held view.
  • Conversations about other people (usually absent), which may be either critical, competitive, or supportive. This includes gossip.
  • Conversations about oneself, which sometimes indicate attention-seeking behaviour.In the real world, few conversations fall exclusively into one category.

I will mostly try to come up with some the first two types (with opinions and facts) as the other two are personal. I definitely feel that “Conversations about oneself” is almost always going to be preferable to the others as it reveals much more about yourself to your conversation partner especially if its a personal story.

I will go through each Chinese Character in my 3000 Chinese character dictionary, explain its meaning and try to come up with several interesting facts or opinions about the word. These will be archived as blog posts and can be used as a reference for whenever I feel there have been too many awkward silences.


WikiHow Article: How to Start a Converastion When You Have Nothing to Talk About

Tuesday, January 05th, 2010 | Author:

“You know, sometimes I forget how fun they can be too.”

— post-coital male gynecologist

Tuesday, December 29th, 2009 | Author:

This is very messy and it doesn’t know if it wants to be a poem or not. I’d like to maybe clean this up eventually but here it is now.

O’ tangled beard of nerdy guy
I mourn thy untimely shaving
thou were the envy of  hobos, unibombers, & wookies.
ZZ Top are still raving!
Now trim, clean and proper, for employers most impressed
but lost the clarion call of  “I am probably a rapist.”

Thick and furry like the armpit of a biker
But who do you think you are now?
Captain William Thomas Riker?

Thou tangled bird nest strands was so good for stroking,
facilitating deep thought
a fine companion to a countenance wrought in contemplation
but more often a deep fart.

bits of last Tuesday’s filet o’ fish stored for today’s snack
stroke it fingers ’til entangled in it like a Chinese finger trap
Thou made my pubes green with envy
instead of the usual green with infection from yeast

Van Dyke, chin straps, goatees and mutton chops
soul patch, neck beards, The Village People’s cop
So incredibly furry; your mouth so hard to find
just like the asshole on my behind.

I need not shed a tear
for the beard is everywhere
I see it in that tortured strand of hair grasping for air from a blackened mole atop the very end of a witch’s nose.
I see it performing a backstroke in my clam chowder to say a friendly hello.
I see it clinging to the collective pile on the edge of a public urinal.
Long may you strewn, good beard.
Long may you strewn

Category: Works  | Tags:  | Leave a Comment
Thursday, December 24th, 2009 | Author:

These are some games that I play when no one is looking:

  • Pretending someone is chasing you and you have to open your car door/front door with a key quickly
  • squishing people’s heads with my fingers or exploding their heads with my mind.
  • Practicing my ninja skills in a public bathroom. Sitting in a stall doing number 2 when someone else walks into the bathroom. I see if I can remain extra quiet so that he does not notice there is someone else in the bathroom with him.
  • Creating entire backstories to random strangers I see walking on the street. Imagining the dialogue of strangers talking to each other.
  • Imagining parts of the carpet are made of lava.
  • Pretending I have control over a rain droplet as it forms on a window and then slowly slides down collecting other rain droplets along the way down, becoming bigger and faster until it slides off.
  • that a Broadway musical number requires that I feather dust, vacuum and scrub toilets while I am feather dusting, vacuuming and scrubbing toilets.
  • making a dead shrimp carcass talk and do bad impressions of W.C. Fields as it tries desperately to charm a salt shaker.
  • Pretending that my shadow is actually doing that to you (instead of just doing that to your shad0w).
  • Pretending an eraser can erase more than just things on paper.
  • that my two fingers (index and middle) are the legs of a tiny man who can walk and jump on top of cars in parking lots and slide down the car hoods.
Category: Uncategorized  | Tags:  | Leave a Comment
Thursday, December 24th, 2009 | Author:

I’ve had this happen to me several times.

When you’ve just met a person, you’re still trying to figure out who they are.

They decide its good to reveal that they have a sarcastic personality and proceed to tell me something they think is so ridiculously outlandish that I will burst out laughing.

“Yeah.. because my parents are Christian Missionaries who are leaving for Australia tomorrow.”

Unless you say your sarcastic remark with a hilarious voice or facial expression, instead of the style of a deadpan sarcastic twat remark… why the hell would I assume you were being sarcastic.
Having Christian missionaries as parents is very believable.

The world can be a crazy place. Lots of unexpected things happen in life.
The temerity to now assume that I’m a gullible idiot who will believe anything because I didn’t catch your sarcasm?

“Well, if you knew me.. then you would know that what I just said was really funny.”

A lot of good that does when I’m just meeting you for the first time.

Thursday, December 24th, 2009 | Author:

A man is tasting wine and describes the taste:

“Yes, I too sense a distinct almond flavor with hints of elderberries”
> POOT (goes a fart) < "and then an interesting earthy flavor of bits of corn and asparagus" I plan on disowning this stupid idea but I figure I need to get back in the habit of posting. After all, an idea is an idea. It came from me for some reason so I'll record it and maybe learn to understand it and maybe some good will come from it later. God what a terrible fart joke.

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009 | Author:

Drawn in High School.

This is an absolutely geeky joke that I think only biology/entomology nerds would get.

Never Ask A Bee For Directions

I think if I have time I’d like to revise the cartoon to make it more obvious that the bee is doing a very involved dance routine. Something you probably can’t see but there is a very small tattoo on the bee’s stomach that says “Disco God.”

If you don’t understand this joke then watch this:

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Category: Drawings, Works  | Tags: , ,  | Leave a Comment
Sunday, August 02nd, 2009 | Author:
What lady could resist my turtleneck?

What lady could resist my turtleneck?

I was listening to the love story between Carl Sagan and his third and final wife Anne Druyan from an episode in Radiolab.

I kept playing it again and again because there this gigantic gap in the story that seems to require a giant cognitive leap that I just couldn’t make.

Carl was on his second marriage with his wife Linda Salzman with which he had a child with. Anne Druyan was in a serious relationship with a man and the two couples were friends.
But 1 phone call changed everything.
I guess its supposed to be reckless and romantic but I just don’t see it.

Here is the story as written by Anne Druyan in the Epilogue of Billions & Billions: Thoughts on Life and Death at the Brink of the Millennium with a few minor edits by me. [Note that I did NOT cut any part of the crucial telephone call of her story. It was just written that way.] :

In the early spring of 1977, Carl was invited by NASA to assemble a committee to select the contents of a phonograph record that would be affixed to each of the Voyager 1 and 2 spacecraft… Here was an opportunity to send a message to possible beings of other worlds and times. It could be far more complex than the plaque that Carl and Carl’s wife, Linda Salzman, and astronomer Frank Drake had attached to Pioneer 10. That was a breakthrough, but it was essentially a license plate. The Voyager record would include greetings in sixty human languages and one whale language, an evolutionary audio essay, 116 pictures of life on Earth and ninety minutes of music from a glorious diversity of the worlds cultures. The engineers projected a one-billion-year shelf life for the golden phonograph records.

How long is a billion years? In a billion years the continents of Earth would be so altered that we would not recognize the surface of our own planet.  … It was conceivable that, Noah-like, we were assembling the ark of human culture, the only artifact that would survive into the unimaginably far distant future.

In the course of my daunting search for the single most worthy piece of Chinese music, I phoned Carl and left a message at his hotel in Tucson where he was giving a talk. An hour later the phone rang in my apartment in Manhattan. I picked it up and heard a voice say: I got back to my room and found a message that said Annie called. And I asked myself, why didn’t you leave me that message ten years ago?

Bluffing, joking, I responded lightheartedly. Well, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Carl. And then, more soberly, Do you mean for keeps?

Yes, for keeps, he said tenderly. Let’s get married.

Yes, I said and that moment we felt we knew what it must be like to discover a new law of nature. It was a eureka, a moment in which a great truth was revealed, one that would be reaffirmed through countless independent lines of evidence over the next twenty years…

What message did she leave him? Wasn’t it just a message about finding the right piece of Chinese music? So why would Carl say she should’ve left that message 10 years ago?!

I can understand the usage of narrative ellipses and very subtle exposition to make a love story mysterious, alluring and still remain a little private. But I still think there’s something severely wrong here.

How does she go from talking about this neat little project to make a Noah’s Ark record to send out into space, billions and billions and billions of years, and then to making a call to Carl and suddenly they’re talking about “for keeps” and suddenly “let’s get married”?

Carl and Anne

Carl and Anne

I don’t believe I am missing any context from the story that would make it easier to understand since the Radiolab interview is pretty much presented as a self contained story about the moment Anne fell in love with Carl Sagan.

She basically “yada yada yadaed” her way out of the best part of the story without any attempt to actually say “yada yada yada.” She just presented it as so, and expects the reader to accept this giant gap!

Not only that but there seems to be almost no sympathy at all to the victims of this reckless love affair in particular Carl Sagan’s wife at the time, Linda Salzman. In fact, Anne even sounds catty and competitive when she disses the very similar project Carl & Linda worked on:

“It could be far more complex than the plaque that Carl and Carl’s wife, Linda Salzman, and astronomer Frank Drake had attached to Pioneer 10. That was a breakthrough, but it was essentially a license plate. The Voyager record would include greetings in sixty human languages and one whale language…”

Oh Snap! She just called that project “A LICENSE PLATE!” and then goes on to say how great HER project with Carl was in comparison.
I would totally love to see the cat-fight that should ensue had these ladies been from the ghetto.

It also makes me wonder about Carl and the way he gets chicks. It seems like he goes around asking ladies if they want to work on some “ark of human culture” to send into space and then uses his famous “billions and billions” line to make them starry eyed romantic about the project and its context as a cosmic human endeavor.

Understandably, Linda Salzman was pretty upset with Carl and did not understand why Carl did this. Neither would I if he used this same story to explain his love for Anne.

The heart does want what the heart wants. But damn! You ice cold, Sagan.. you ice cold!

Tuesday, July 07th, 2009 | Author:

There have been plenty of jokes made at the expense of Michael Jackson for decades (many of which I enjoyed) but there really is no denying that he was an amazing artist who made music and danced like no one else.

Who else hung around chimps, wearing a single sequined glove, screamed, yelped & giggled through songs (Woo Hoo! Schmon! Heee heee!) and grabbed at his crotch in 3D and made all of it seem cool and effortless.
I still get chills at the way a young Michael screams out, “OhhhhHH! Baby give me one more chance!” in “I Want You Back” and always find myself mesmerize by the sequined mirror ball suit in the video for “Rock with You.”
I’m still amazed at how badass he was in “Smooth Criminal” (and to a lesser degree in “Bad’).  He manages to do what West Side Story failed miserably at doing; convincing dance fighting sequences. A shiny Puerto Rican guy snapping and jazz hands jabbing was no match with a man in a crisp white suit moonwalking and tilting his way against gravity distracting you until you realize that you’ve been hit by… you’ve been struck by… a smooth criminal. OK Annie.

Unfortunately it’s the loud vitiligo pedophilia of recent past that sought to tear down the man and let many of us forget how awesome he was. It confused everyone when he turned into a baby dangling white woman who has sleepovers with boys.

But it’s unfair to have decades of beautiful pop art created by the artist sullied by the man and the way he chose to live his life.

When the first allegations of sexual abuse came out I wanted to believe they were false….hoping that it was possible for a man who had no childhood to be able to live sweetly and innocently like a child as an adult. I want to believe in Peter Pan. I wanted to believe he was just a sweet asexual man, pure of heart and wished only to heal the world and make it a better place.
But humans by nature are sexual beings. It’s hard to find someone who is truly celibate.

The allegations started to become more and more believable synchronized with some of his bizarre behavior.
When it started to feel true…
that’s when I started reevaluating the art when I find out that its been created by a monster.

Suddenly the lyrics to “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)” meant something else.
“Will You Be There” is now Michael arranging a date for freeing his willy on some child.
“Something about you “baby”.. that makes me want to give it to you” (Baby?… no longer “baby”… you get me, baby?)
“‘Cause If It’s Aching You Have To Rub It” (uhhhhhhg!)
“The Girl is Mine”…. how ridiculous is the idea now of Paul McCartney and Michael fighting over a girl.
That “doggone” girl is mine… what?!
Oh please don’t make me choose between a man who’s abusive to one legged ladies or a nose rotting pedophile who prefers boys!

I don’t want to think of any of his songs in this way. I wish that the art exists wholly as a separate form from the man. I wish I could watch his music videos and enjoy his music without ever wanting to know who this person was that created these things.
For example… I kinda like this painting:

But that’s before I knew it was done by the white supremacist who killed a man at the Holocaust Museum a month ago.. James Von Brunn.

But there is a strong part of me that is unwilling to just accept the work as it is because the belief that the work is an expression from the artist. The ideas sprung forth from the artist’s mind. It came out of him and there had to be a reason why.

Often times I feel that I have many ideas that came out of me that I would love to disown as regrettable bastard children. But I cannot deny that they were bourne for a reason and that they say something about me.

There is another aspect that also troubles me about Michael Jackson that was brought up in the movie, Three Kings.

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Iraqi Interrogator : “What is the problem with Michael Jackson? …Your country make him chop up his face.”
Underwear Model:“I don’t think so.”
Iraqi Interrogator:“Michael Jackson is pop king of sick fucking country.”
Underwear Model:“That’s Bullshit. He did it to himself!”

Did we do this to the man? The white man is the picture of success in America. Did America make the black man hate himself? Is that what Michael was going for with all his plastic surgery?
In America, money will get you very far and the good ol’ US of A has had plenty of eccentric wealthy lunatics who were surrounded by enablers and allowed to do some messed up things. With enough money, there is no one who is going to stop you from making choices that you probably should not. Yes-men enablers will do anything as long as they get money, and don’t care about the consequences. They help create a world that is detached from reality and boundaries.
Jacko wants his drugos… fine… give me the cash and he gets em.
Ultimately, I think that was what killed Jackson.
I would have loved to have seen him have one more glorious return from his downfall in a new phase of his growth as an artist…. but I don’t think he could have pulled it off and maybe it’s better that he went out now.

I hope that with the passage of time, people will remember less about the man but still stand in awe of his art.

Leonardo Da Vinci was also a “child enthusiast.”
But no one really reevaluate Mona Lisa’s smile as modeled after Da Vinci’s own smile after enjoying vigorous sex with young tender boys.
The sexual proclivities of Da Vinci do not diminish his achievements.
I hope the same for Michael Jackson.