To Live in South Korea

The South Koreans are at it again.

First glowing cats, now this: a brawl in Parliament.

Actually, "brawl" is kind of an understatement. Here's what I think happened, based on the articles I skimmed: the ruling party introduced a bill for a free trade agreement with the U.S., but the opposition party was opposed (obviously, right?), so the ruling barricaded themselves in the committee room so that the opposition party couldn't get in, so the opposition party started fighting in the hallway and eventually took a sledgehammer to the door, and when they finally knocked the door in, they discovered that a lot of furniture had been piled up as a second line of defense.

This, friends, is why democracy is awesome. Maybe if this happened in the US, people would actually watch CSPAN.

Let's look at some pictures of the event, fresh with blogged commentary! What an original idea!


How do they know who to fight? They all look the same! I mean, they're all wearing the same thing. Also, if I were in this fight, I would be really upset at all those photographers and reporters for A) pinning us in so we don't even have room to throw a punch, and B) not helping out AT ALL.


What do you wanna bet that they're all shouting in perfect unison? If you're betting that they are, then you just lost however much money you bet on that. What do you wanna bet that they're not shouting at all, they're just waiting for someone to spoon-feed them a meatball? If that's the case, guy needs to open wider.


I don't need to comment on these pictures at all. This is completely absurd in its own right. This is a legislative situation that required the use of a sledgehammer. I'm lost for words. And yet it gets even more bizarre.


OK, let's not even talk about the fire hose. We can all tell that that's pretty stupid. But look at the bottom of the furniture-barrier pile. Is it just me, or is that a bed? That opens a whole new dimension of what-the-hell-is-going-on-here.


This, to me, is the pinnacle of the whole thing. The ruling party takes this standoff to a new level by spraying the opposition with a fire extinguisher. There is no hope for the opposition in this one. They're just effed. They can't even burn the building down cuz they know the guys inside can extinguish the fire.

And apparently this happens pretty regularly.

I Had a Dream

Last night I had a dream. I dreamt that it was 68 degrees outside. All the snow had melted, and all the grass was green. We went outside for a walk, and we laughed because life was full of joy. The lakes were beautiful. Everyone smiled as we walked by. It was comfortably warm, we didn't have a care in the world, and it would never be cold again.

It's quite possible that I died for a little while and went to heaven.

Then I woke up and it was less than 60 degrees in my house.

My subconscious is so cruel.

When We Were Armless

Have you ever imagined what it would be like if your arms fell off while you were playing basketball? I haven't...until now.

It'd probably suck a lot. You couldn't dribble, shoot or touch the ball. And if you went out for a burger later, wouldn't be able to pick up the burger and bring it to your mouth, nor could you pull out your wallet to pay for it. And when you went back to your apartment, you wouldn't be able to turn your key in the door, but even if you could, you wouldn't be able to turn the knob to open the door.

So I decided to make a list of things that armless people can do that people with arms cannot do. Here it is.

-Nothing.

Seriously, if our arms fell off in the middle of a basketball game, we'd be so screwed. We should probably go ahead and surrender to the Japanese now. At least then we'll still have our dignity, even if we don't have arms.

There's a Hole in the Bucket

HENRY: Hey Liza, there's a hole in the bucket.
LIZA: Cain't you see I'm busy, Henry?
HENRY: I'm tellin' you, Liza, there's a hole in the bucket!
LIZA: Well what do you want me to do about it?
HENRY: I--I just thought I should tell ya is all.
LIZA: Maybe insteada whinin' to me you could just go on and fix it!
HENRY: Well maybe if I knew how to fix it I would'na come whinin'!
LIZA: Henry, I am sick and tired of yer constant complainin'! I'm on my knees here in the kitchen day after day, and not once do I get a thank you, and now you come to me and tell me there's a hole in the bucket. Well excuse me, dear Henry, if I don't give a flying horse pattutie!
HENRY: But you know how I need the bucket, Liza!
LIZA: Henry! What did I just now say? And what do you need the gosh-darned bucket for, anyway?
HENRY: Them aliens out there said they wanted it.
LIZA: Why didn't you just give it to 'em?
HENRY: Like I been tellin' you, Liza, there's a hole in the bucket!
LIZA: But they're aliens, Henry! Don't they have a magic fix-up-the-bucket ray?
HENRY: Would I be tellin' you there was a hole in the bucket if the aliens fixed it up with a fancy ray gun?
LIZA: I wouldn't be surprised if you did.
(The aliens enter the kitchen)
ALIEN #1: We don't want your bucket anymore.
HENRY: How come?
ALIEN #1: We found one that didn't have a hole.
ALIEN #2: Also, we ate your dog.
(Exit aliens)
HENRY: If you'da just done fixed the bucket for me, Rupert'd still be alive.
LIZA: Just get a new bucket. I mean, dog. Get a new dog.

The Mayor

You may have noticed that I'm not writing as consistently as I used to. Let me assure you, faithful readers, that this is not my fault. It's because the Mayor of my blog, in an effort to reduce municipal spending, has cut the power to this blog for weeks at a time. I've invited him here to explain himself, and he's finally taken me up on the offer.

Hi, I'm the Mayor.


That's me right there in that picture, hanging out in my office. I had an aide take that picture after I bashed in that steel cube. I remember that being a good day--had a Wendy's hamburger, bashed that cube, watered the plants. Come to think of it, that's probably the best picture of me in existence.

But let's not dwell on how awesome I look, though it's certainly one of the main reasons I got elected. We're here to talk fiscal policy, an issue very important to my administration. The biggest challenged I've faced as the Mayor is getting this blog's budget under control. You would not believe the wild spending that's gone on here under the previous administration. Ice cream socials, square dancing, lizard racing. You name it.

I was elected to bring some discipline to this blog, but honestly, I've been really busy, so spending has gotten even more out of control. The writer of this blog would have you believe that I cut the power in order to save money, but actually, I just haven't paid our electric bill in months, so the energy company cut us off. Maybe if I hadn't eaten so many Wendy's hamburgers on the taxpayers' dime, this wouldn't have happened. But who am I kidding, those hamburgers are too good to pass up.

Hope this explains things. I'll see you next election season!

Your Wonderful Mayor,
Mayor Rod Stodder

Dear Man-Eating Catfish

Letters from various losers to a man-eating catfish


Dear Man-Eating Catfish,
Are you really a catfish? My friend told me you were a whale shark. Is my friend a liar?
Sincerely,
Jimmy

Dear Jimmy,
Let me answer your question with a question: why would they call me The Man-Eating Catfish if I was actually a whale shark? That seems pretty stupid to me. If I was a whale shark, it'd make a lot more sense to call me The Man-Eating Whale Shark.

In response to your second question, the only way I could know if your friend was a liar is if I ate him. Please mail him to China so I can eat him, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Yours,
Man-Eating Catfish

Dear Man-Eating Catfish,
Why did you eat two of my friends?
Sincerely,
Boy in China without name

Dear Boy,
The first one was so tasty, I had to eat another one. It's like you and when you get to eat. Assuming you are distributed more than one potato chip, it tastes so good that you have to eat another one. So it is with me when I ate your friends. If you would like to be eaten, feel free to stop by later. I know you aren't busy because I ate your friends.

Yours,
Man-Eating Catfish

Dear Man-Eating Catfish,
My family is enslaved in a salt mine. We've been here as long as I can remember. I have heard tales of your heroism. Please come and rescue us.
Sincerely,
Slave #341

Dear Slave #341,
I think you made that all up just now. But I can't be sure unless I eat you. A lot of people think it's weird that I have to eat them to know if they're telling the truth, but they shouldn't make such a big deal about it. I could be of great help to your country's justice system by eating their witnesses in order to verify their testimony. I suggest you write to your home country's goverment and tell them about how I eat people.

Yours,
Man-Eating Catfish

Dear Man-Eating Catfish
I think you're a liar. Maybe you should eat yourself.

Dear Whoever-you-are,
That would be very stupid. A man-eating catfish eating a man-eating catfish? I've never heard of anything more absurd. Good luck with asking stupid questions in the future, and better luck getting eaten by me.

Yours,
Man-Eating Catfish

The Revenge of Winter 2: The Revenge

As you may or may not know, I hate winter. This year, though, it's gotten much worse. While in the past winter has only gone after me, this year it decided to go after the things I love.

This morning it took out my cattle herd.


Yes, that is a picture of my cows. You can barely even tell, after what winter did to them. Led them out into a valley and then dumped fourteen tons of snow on them. The ones that didn't freeze to death died from not being able to look at anything (a common cause of death among cows). I loved those cows so much.

First my ant farm and now this. Why are people and seasons so intent on destroying my attempts at farming? Pretty soon I'll have nothing left to farm but tofu and half-eaten beans. And if any of you even thinks of touching my tofu farm, I'ma break your arm right out of its universe.

The Life of a Sea Lion

When I was 13, I became a sea lion for about three weeks. That's what I want to tell you about today. I've kept it a secret for a long time because it was one of the more embarrassing times of my life, but it's time I come clean. I hope you can still respect me, even though you now know that I was once a sea lion.

I just woke up one day on a dock in San Francisco, and I was a sea lion. Though I wasn't expecting to become an animal two time zones away from my house, I wasn't that upset about it. I figured I'd just go with the flow, sit on the dock with the other sea lions. Once I adjusted to the fact that I was a sea lion, I figured I'd just spend my days resting on the dock and eating fish until maybe I'd turn back into myself. But life as a sea lion isn't that easy.

Apparently sea lions are responsible for the majority of car thefts along the whole West Coast. After about an hour of sitting around on the dock, one of the other sea lions spoke up. "Whose turn is it this week?" he said. I had no idea what he was talking about, but someone said, "It's Ninglemuffy's turn!" Someone else, presumably Ninglemuffy, said, "No, I stole the '95 Accord last week!"

It turned out to be my turn, of course. And how a sea lion steals cars without arms or legs is still beyond me. But I ended up pulling a guy out of his Saturn at a stoplight and taking the car. Drove it straight into the ocean, which is apparently what these guys do with the cars they steal. Since the ocean usually isn't clear, you can't tell, but there are something like 800 cars submerged in the San Francisco bay.

Three weeks later I woke up as myself. I explained it all to my brother and asked him if a sea lion had taken over my body for those weeks. He told me that I'd actually tried to become an Olympic speed skater. And truthfully, that wasn't too different from what I wanted to be all along.

To the Greenish Fields of Canada

Dear Sir or Madam,
I regrettably must decline your offer to apply for your credit card as I will be indisposed for approximately the next three and a half years. You see, I am in quite the bind, as I owe my cable company over one million dollars, and, in their attempts to collect, I have accidentally murdered at least three cable guys. (I say "at least" because I'm not sure how many cable people were in the cable van that exploded near my house.) As a result, I must flee the country and seek political asylum before law enforcement officials arrive.

You may think that a new credit card would be an integral asset for such a journey, to which I reply, cease your endless product-pushing! I am a human being. I am not a pumpkin, to be toyed with, abused, or mocked. I cry. I bleed. I am not very different from you, sir or madam. You and I, we don't need good interest rates to lead fulfilling lives. We just need to make it to Canada, and I should leave soon, at that.

I respect your position, though, credit card supplier company, and I can understand your confusion at receiving a letter refusing your offer, let alone a letter from an alleged felon with mountains of debt most likely never to be paid back. I write you because I respect you and have sympathy for your position. It's probably not an easy job, sending out letters that most people will never open, paying for so much postage and getting so little return. I want you to know that you are valued, unlike some employees of a certain cable company. Fight the good fight, sir or madam. Don't give up just because it's hard and you never get the recognition you deserve.

When I told some of my friends that I was going to Canada, they suggested that Mexico would be some hundreds of miles closer, but the Mexicans are not my kind of people. I belong with the Canadians and their eight-month winters, their plain-looking high school students, their lack of representation in the United Nations Security Council, and their presumably free cable. Maybe someday we'll meet their under its hazy skies and recount the days of credit card offers and running cross-country from bloated police officers. We'll laugh, and our grandchildren will play together in Canada's relatively clean, infrequently mowed fields.

Until then,
Robert Louis Stevenson