3.30.2011

My Ideal Home

I want to live inside a kangaroo.


Ways this will improve my life:
-Thanks to layers and mucus and what I assume are other unrelentingly pleasant bodily fluids, I will always be warm and comfortable. Whenever I start to feel a little chilly, I can just tuck myself a little deeper in that cozy pouch, rub up extra close to that soft tissue, and warm right up.
-I will never be lonely because I will always have a kangaroo buddy to keep me company. I imagine us becoming something like heroes of the Old West. I'd be the straight man who does all the hard work, and the kangaroo would be the bumbling, wise-cracking sidekick who accidentally saves the day in the end.
-I will probably be in Australia. Most kangaroos do live in Australia, after all. The rest live in zoos. I do not want to live in a kangaroo in a zoo. As much as the rhyme makes that proposition attractive, I do not want to expose myself to ridicule for my aberrant lifestyle.
-Most kangaroo predators are extinct, and most of my predators would be too slow. We would be almost unstoppable. And I could probably teach the kangaroo how to camouflage, so the bears wouldn't even be able to see us.

Ways this will maybe not be such a great idea:
-It will be crowded. Once some joeys start showing up (unlikely, though, since I'm sure to scare off any potential kangaroo mates), there's not going to be a lot of room inside this kangaroo. And I'm not going to sell my stamp collection to make space for a mooch.
-Bouncing up and down will probably make me motion sick. Not that I have much experience traveling in jumps or leaps, but I expect it will be jarring to my stomach.
-My favorite foods will not be readily available, and it will be difficult to go grocery shopping. I haven't read a lot about kangaroos yet, but I'm guessing they don't make a lot of pizza or tacos. And I've seen many a kangaroo get kicked out of a grocery store, so there must be some kind of "no kangaroos" rule that would keep me from buying the food I want.
-Kangaroos are difficult to steer. Say I want to go left, but the kangaroo wants to go right. I have no idea how I'm going to handle such a dilemma.

3.29.2011

Knock Knock

After a two-year hiatus, I'm attempting a comeback. I have abandoned whatever principle initially compelled me to abandon this blog. I return with no plan and no goal, just a full-throttle major blogging explosion.

I shall begin with some bad knock-knock jokes.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Robot.
Robot who?
Robot police! You're under arrest!

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Seriously, it's the robot police.
Seriously, it's the robot police who?
Seriously, it's the ROBOT POLICE! This isn't a game! We're here for the children you kidnapped! Open up or we'll efficiently and emotionlessly bust down your door!

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Row, row, row your boat.
Row, row, row your boat who?
Row, row, ROBOT POLICE! We're not joking about arresting you, though. We have a warrant to take you to jail for your numerous crimes.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
All your criminal friends.
All your criminal friends who?
All your criminal friends have been eaten alive by the ROBOT POLICE! Your only chance to avoid the same fate is to open the door and be arrested!

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Orange you glad I didn't say robot police? Oh wait...crap, I screwed that one up. I meant to say, aren't you glad I didn't say ROBOT POLICE?

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Boo.
Boo who?
Boo--it's the ROBOT POLICE! And you should stop crying. We didn't actually eat your criminal friends. We are fueled by a combination of battery and solar power, not human flesh.

Thank you.