Correcting the English Language

I think from here on out instead of saying, "He has the strength of a horse," people should start saying, "He has the strength of a centaur," because, let's face it, a centaur would totally kick a horse's butt.

Potpourri - Pay Attention You!

Nashville: Population: 2 more than yesterday.

I've safely arrived in Nashville, a town most people associate with iconic country western singers, southern culture, and barbecue, and I have to say I've yet to form an opinion of this place because I have seen so little of it. However I like the barges that cruise along the river behind my apartment complex. I don't like the ADHD kids that live above us and seem to test the limits of how many times one can loudly run back and forth the length of the apartment before the neighbors below attack. Being a fan of hickory smoked meats, grits, White Castle sliders, and banjos, I think it's safe to say I'll like it hear.

As is expected I'm currently looking for work. I've narrowed the jobs I'm willing to accept down to two categories: a) jobs involving pummeling with rubber mallets those people who can't distinguish the difference between apes and monkeys or b) personal insult therapist. If you know any rich Nashville industrialists who like to be mocked indignantly or any vengeful zoological groups, please drop me a line. Also if anyone has an extra sofa or recliner just taking up space in their apartment please Fed-Ex it to me ASAP.


What I've been listening to lately:

1. Shakira - Fijacion Oral Vol. 1 (Guilty pop pleasure or mark of being culturally broadminded, I haven't decided)
2. Bright Eyes - Digital Ash in a Digital Urn (Like turning your annoying, whiney cousin into the robot from Short Circuit)
3. Yann Tiersen - Amelie Soundtrack (The accordian, when used properly, is as languid as the violin)
4. Ryan Adams - Cold Roses (Think a dispirited but catchy Ryan Adams doing his best impression of Dwight Yokam)
5. Stephen Malkmus - Face the Truth (You either love it or hate it - jam, rock, electronic, folk - he does it all, and mostly out of tune too)

Tangential revelation: Within ten years - due to the unprecedented demand for Krispy Kreme over the past four years - the cliche, "I'll bet dollars to doughnuts," will no longer remain a valid caliber of very favorable odds, as the price of a doughnut will soon surpass the value of a dollar. Perhaps we'll have to change the saying to, "I'll bet you Euros to doughnuts."!

P.S. Monkeys have tails, apes do not. However, the Barbary Apes living on the Straight of Gibraltar, which have no tails, are actually monkeys. They are an exception you should forget in 3...2...1...

Quack Quack. I think I have a pinched nerve in my back. I have back aches and a warm sensation that feels like a hot wire running down the length of my thigh. If anyone has an extra spine just taking up space in their apartment please Fed-Ex it to me ASAP.

Bizzle Poll: Should Bizzle get a cell phone? Leave persuasive arguments of no more than 100 words in the comment corner. If you have an unconvincing argument please limit it to 75 words, at least 15 of which should be curse words. Thank you.

Measure of Maturity

Have you ever been told to act your age? What exactly does this mean? Where does one go to find out what behavior accompanies 25 revolutions around our solar father-in-Copernican-law? The county clerk? The national archives? Is there some worldly encyclopedia that houses this arcane knowledge? If so, I'd like to see the articles printed within. And while I'm at it, I think I'll look up the recipe for mana.

It's general knowledge that infants cry, teenagers rebel, and the elderly become incontinent, slow drivers, and fans of disgraceful television programs like "Golden Girls" and "The Price is Right." But the area in between birth and death is rather nebulous. Ergo, the midlife crisis; because people don't often know what's expected of them, they act erratically, as though they're lost in their own skin. They get plastic surgery to look younger or by sports cars that resemble Skittles in both shape and color. Modern media claims that "40 is the new 30." Not only is this a mathematical impossibility, but also a vagary, for what is expected of people in their 40s and 30s anyway?

The fact of the matters is "Act your age" doesn't really mean anything at all, because a) we can't literally act like a number (aside from configuring are arms and legs in such a way that our body comes to resemble the symbol) and b) there's no guidebook informing us of what is expected of being 20, 30, 60, or 98.

Telling someone to act like they've existed for X amount of time on this earth is an ambiguous command. If everyone behaves like a child now and again, if being immature once in a while is part of the norm, then people really are acting their age whenever they have a fit of some sort. Those who are always in control, who never yell, stomp, or throw temper tantrums, never cry when they skin their knees, never pull other people's hair and never refuse to share are boring. "Act your age," or "grow up," really means, "Stop acting the way your acting." And who are we to tell this to another person who isn't our own genetic replication? Or ourself?

The quiz below will help determine without a reasonable doubt if you are a mature. The results are indisputable. The test does not claim, however, to inform you as to whether or not you "act your age." If not treated like a serious scientific instrument, misappropriation of the quiz may lead to temporary blindness, bloating, an insatiable sweet tooth, and economic depression in Latin America.

Add up the points in the parentheses when you are finished and compare your score to the Maturity Table at the bottom of the page.

1) When someone says you have a "youthful spirit" you:
a. take it to mean you have a lot of energy and are in pretty good shape (10)
b. see it as a free pass to scream "You're not the boss of me!" to policemen and judges. (1)
c. thank your plastic surgeon for doing such a great job with your last Botox injection. (5)
d. hold your breath until you either get what you want or pass out. (0)

2) When forced to wait in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles or the bank you...
a. become increasingly enraged with every passing minute and say things like, "What could possibly be taking so long!" and "If this line doesn't move in the next sixty seconds I'm leaving!" (4)
b. understand because the world doesn't always work the way you want it to and the tellers are doing things as quickly and efficiently as their reptilian minds will allow. (10)
c. sympathize with the tellers because if you were only earning $5.75 an hour you wouldn't be in a rush to expedite people's transactions either. (5)
d. hold your breath until your number is called or you pass out. (0)

3) If somebody from your carpool offers to take you to work and then cancels the morning of you...
a. badmouth them to another friend and poke pins through the eyes of their family Christmas photo. (2)
b. become aggressive while driving yourself to work, frequently flipping off other drivers, honking your horn, and making scary devil faces at the little kid in the car in front of you WHO JUST WON'T GO THE FREAKING SPEED LIMIT! (2)
c. understand and inquire as to whether or not your carpool will pick you up tomorrow. (10)
d. hold your breath until the ambulance arrives and takes you the hospital. Then call in sick to work. (0)

4) If you could weigh your patience it would weigh the same as...
a. a grain of sand. (2)
b. a small dog with beady eyes and little white fangs. (4)
c. a stereotypical male from Detroit. (8)
d. the Indian subcontinent. (10)
e. you're holding your breath until the next question because this one has upset you so much. (0)

5) When your boss gives you more tasks than you can manage, you...
a. become organized and diligent and prepare as best you can. (10)
b. go drink to help you forget about how much work you have to do and, while drunk, threaten to stab your boss in the neck with a salad fork. (3)
c. object to having so much work but in a professional manner. (6)
d. hold your breath until you get workmen's compensation, then enjoy your days off by burning ants with a magnifying glass. (0)

6) By the time someone is forty they should...
a. be able to bathe themselves to a moderate degree of success. (4)
b. have settled down, birthed kids, worked 10 years at a full-time job, bought a house, bought two cars and learned to smile falsely every time someone makes a cliched quip. (8)
c. be making at least six figures. Unless you didn't go to college. Then you should at least be the manager at whatever fast food restaurant you work at. (6)
d. be a veteran at holding their breath until they get what they want. (0)

7) In my spare time I like to...
a. read books with pictures. (4)
b. read books without pictures. (6)
c. write books. (8)
d. eat unidentifiable objects I find in the park. (1)
e. hold my breath until the pictures in the books get sparkly and blurry. (0)

Now add up all of your points.

If Maturity were an evolutionary specimen you would be...

0 points The primordial ooze's sneeze.
1-5 points A viral burden to society.
6-12 points An invertebrate resembling a snail.
13-25 points A Rat-like insectivore.
26-35 points Wallace Shawn without thumbs.
36-40 points CroMagnon Man.
41-53 points Modern Man.
54-70 points Space Man with jetpacks.

Transcription of Cell Phone Conversation

Bill: (excited) But that wasn't even the half of it. The next Thanksgiving they got three turkeys-

Sarah: (dismayed) Bill, I'm not really interested in this. Just tell me when you're coming over.

Bill: I've told you, hon. It's not that I don't want to But what am I gonna tell her? It's already ten thirty. It would look a little strange.

Sarah: I don't care if it looks strange. (a car horn beeps) Just come over tonight.

Bill: I don't thinks so...not tonight.

Sarah: (raspy and whispering) I need to see you.

Bill: I can't. I'm sorry. I wish I could. We have to be adults about this. We're not teenagers playing house. There are real consequences at stake so let's be responsible, shall we?

Sarah: What time should I expect you?(Connection breaking up) If you...sleep...when...panties...

(Call disconnected.)

(Ringing)

Bill: Hey, we got cut off.

Sarah: Are you sure you didn't hang up on me like last time?

Bill: I told you I had to hang up because she was coming into the den. What did you want me to do? Pretend I was talking with business associates?

Sarah: Yes. That's exactly what I wanted you to do.

Bill: I don't have any business associates, Sarah. You know this. I work at home and alone. That's why I'm able to see you so much during the day. She's gone, I'm here. And the kids are at school filling their little heads with bits of knowledge they'll forget in a couple years.

Sarah: Cynic.

Bill: It's the truth.

(pause)

Sarah: I put some more pictures of us on the internet.

Bill: (angry) Damnit, Sarah. I told you I don't want you to do that! It's dangerous.

Sarah: Don't worry about it. When does your wife ever look at nude photos? She never even goes online.

Bill: Not to my knowledge she doesn't but this is how people get caught. What if one of her friends from the PTA has some kinky fetish and spends hours a day online looking at naked people doing God knows what. Then they see me. That would not go over well. Take them down, take them down tonight.

Sarah: The guy in the car next to me is telling me to roll down my window.

Bill: Don't do it. He might be a lecher.

Sarah: (sound of car window being rolled down)Yes?...oh...okay...He just wants directions, hold on. (distant sounding)What you want to do is go down three blocks until you hit Elm. Then take a right. The road will split at...oh what's it called? I can't remember the name but there's a burger joint on the right hand side that has really good milkshakes. Anyway, the road will split and you veer left. Then take a right onto Wichita and you're there. Okay?...Sure. (to Bill) Sorry, he was lost.

Bill: (sternly) I'm serious. I want you to take those pictures of me down tonight. What if my kids see them?

Sarah: You're kids aren't even old enough to use the internet.

Bill: But they will be someday. Maybe five, ten years from now. And the way Troy gazes at the pictures in Vogue I can tell he's gonna be upstairs with his door locked all the time. I don't want him to accidentally come across a picture of his father doing something inappropriate with the woman who scrapes microbes off his teeth.

Sarah: I'm a dental hygienist. I do a whole lot more than scrape microbes. I do moldings too.

Bill: Whatever. Take them down.

Sarah: No.

Bill: I can't believe this. How did I ever end up...hold on...she's knocking. (distant sounding) Yes, dear? No, I'm reading out loud to myself...That's right...well I'm getting some good material down so, oh I don't know. Another hour maybe...okay...goodnight.

Sarah: Bill?

Bill: What?

Sarah: When are you coming over?

Bill: Cut that out will you. I already told you. Not tonight.

Sarah: You're a writer, make something up. You're impetuous. Tell her you suddenly got a craving for fried chicken. She won't want any so she won't ask to come. We don't have to sleep together I just want you to hold me.

Bill: No. No. I can't. I won't do it. I'll see you on Thursday.

Sarah: Tell her one of your friends got arrested.

Bill: That's ludicrous!

Sarah: I'll remember this the next time you have a cavity.

(click)

The Trash Can is America's Closet

You never find out how much trash, junk, and garbage you have until you move. Magazines, gum wrappers, receipts, random pieces of wood, clothes you haven't worn in ages, boxes full of tax documents and schoolwork you refuse to throw out (like anyone, yourself included, will ever again read an essay on Hegel's definition of "aesthetics" or the book review of "Ramona Quimby" you wrote in the third grade). Sheets of bubble wrap, socks with holes in the heel and toe, books you've yet to read, CD's you never listen to, photographs of people you never want to see again, a rapidly-growing obsolescent VHS copy of "True Lies," greeting cards from Christmas 1999, gifts you opened, smiled at, and quickly stuffed in the corner of your room, only to resurface again the next time you move, making you question why you have so much stuff.

It's a vicious cycle of pack-ratism. And it doesn't end. Because when you die, your children will inherit your trash and preserve it in your memory. Your son will inherit your valued collection of incomplete Nepalese domino sets and your daughter will hold the wilted banana peel that evidences your last meal while she weeps into a kleenex you used when you were 13.

Americans love their trash. We love making it. We love saving it. We love eating it (case in point: Grade D hot dogs made from animal parts that should have been discarded). Our blood is practically the liquid in the bottom of the trash can. That's how biological our love of trash is.

But the fact that we cling to trash as tenaciously as a gibbon on a vine is the obverse effect of us being wasteful. We've been told for so long to "clean your plate" because there are starving children in Uganda and "you should only be so lucky to have a television" that when it comes to throwing things away, we feel guilty! Saving things we don't need helps us cope with wasting food, resources, and privilege. Whenever you throw out an old vacuum, an old pair of glasses, or a water gun there's a moment's hesitation, and in that moment you feel guilty. Because somewhere out there exists a person who needs a vacuum, who can't read because glasses are beyond his means, who is really hot but doesn't have a water gun to soak himself with.

Of course, we're not the only ones who save trash. But we are a cluttered nation. And spoiled with space. We see empty space as space that needs to be filled. Vacancy makes us nervous. Sometimes it seems as though we make trash simply for the sake of creating having something to look at! When modern art teaches us that filth, vileness, vulgarity, and chaos can be beautiful, it's no surprise when trash becomes art.

We love clutter. We love our stuff. We love having so many possessions we don't have time to use them all. The consumerist syndrome is standing under the neon lights of the store, some useless Wal-Martian artifact in our hands, and saying, "Oh, I'll make time to use this plunger slash George Foreman deep fat frier. I'll use it all the time!" But we never do. We clean our toilets and make sweet potato fries once, and then back into the box it goes until Christmas, where we put a ribbon on it and pawn it off on our least favorite relative . Either that or we leave it in the garage until it's actually an antique in mint condition. Then we sell it on eBay, the center of trash consumerism. You can actually buy worn, tattered sneakers on eBay! eBay is not so much an online mercado as it is a sociological experiment to see how many times, and for how much commerce, trash can change hands.

In retrospect, I probably should just throw out the hideous figurine of a cougar pouncing on a deer that my mother gave me for Christmas. But I can't. There's a little boy in Kazakhstan without such a figurine. He's written to Santa for the past three years asking for this figurine. And because this little boy wants it so badly, I'd have to be inhuman to throw the figurine away. So I'll keep it, stowed away in the dark confines of a box, where it will never see the light of day. But it will be there.

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

Idly Dying

his mind will
forever wander,
his body shivers,
the confectioner's weather sprinkles
and crawls in
without invitation.

out he goes.
his clothes rustle in the wind,
his ears perk, and his eyes
blink.
he strains to open them.
"sleep," his eyes say.

the salt lands on the flat rim
of the bowl,
rather than in the heart
of the soup.
scattered around the
periphery.
they're flavorless
there.

an old clock ticks.
and the pendulum looks
more natural swinging
one direction than the other.

Life as a Novel

Gottfried Wilhem Leibniz said that this world was a perfect world, because God couldn't create anything that wasn't perfect. Genocide. Pollution. Murder. Litter. Dodge Neons. Republicans. The small pebbles that collect in the heel of your sock. All these atrocities are necessary conditions to our world, irreparable and inoperable. Hence - just as any alteration to a perfect circle would damage its perfection - the above disgraces to human dignity cannot be eradicated without making the world worse than it already is.


I think this world is a rough draft. And in the final version, we'll all be edited.

The Bogeyman of Doubt

Doubt. It is a very strange concept that is often neglected and taken for granted. We assume we know the meaning of doubt without ever plummeting the depths of its significance. I find that a lot of words in our language, and other languages for that matter, signify a state of things where a certain material is lacking rather than the actual presence of particles, matter, or other mana. In simplified terms, certain words are devoted to expressing a state of absence. For example, cold is the absence of heat. Misery the absence of happiness. Then the absence of now. Death the absence of life.

Similarly, Is doubt an actual element? Or the absence of hope? Heraclitus and Parmenides said that the world is made up of counterparts. If so, then doubt is an element juxtaposing and contrasting hope. But such abstract philosophies make me wonder about other assumed opposites and their existence versus a simple lack thereof. Opposites have always perplexed me. Does everything have an opposite? If so what is the opposite of 13? What is the opposite of wood? Of rigor mortis? Maybe opposites are only adjectival, like fat and skinny, big and small, hungry and full.

Does darkness exist or is it merely the absence of light? Is there a particle of darkness? If so then it would be physically possible to invent a mechanism, a de-light bulb, that released this particle of darkness and obfuscated the vicinity; an invention that makes everything dark just as a freezer makes everything cold. I'm not sure how air conditioning works, but does it create and release frigid air or does it merely extract heat and disperse air free of warmth? There is a difference between the production of element X and the isolation of element Y producing effect X. A parallel is the belief in silence as an object unto itself or silence being the state effected by of a lack of sound.

So is doubt the absence of hope, or a particle of its own? Does doubt exist? Or do we feel doubt when hope has gone on sabbatical? If hope exists but doubt does not, what ostracizes hope, pushes it to the perimeter? What alienates hope? What moves it to the outskirts? Personal psyche? An unseen force? The devil?

If doubt is in fact a physical product, what produces it and what attracts it? Why do we doubt when all evidence points to the contrary? Is there a logical equation for hope and a logical equation for doubt? What adheres particles of doubt to our person? More importantly, why are we afraid of that which can make us happy? Why do we often push away that very thing which we desire? Did Freud or William James or Watson or Skinner ever address this issue? I think not.

In conclusion, remain skeptical. The world doesn't always make sense. And neither do the world's pawns.

Making the World Smarter, Faster, Stronger

It's time Americans embrace the Placebo Effect. As the other nations of the world pull farther ahead of us in the quest for world dominance (i.e. elementary school Asians score higher on standardized tests than do Americans, Europeans know anywhere from three to six languages, Australians can drink twice the amount of alcohol) America can't simply rely on integrity, government, and public schools to provide us with the necessary tools we need to succeed. It's time we tried something different.

For years we've been scared off by said effect and used it to discredit any and all panaceas when the true panacea is, by its very essence, the Placebo Effect.

Recent studies have shown that the Placebo Effect works approximately 30% of the time, regardless of what the intended outcome of the study was. As far as I'm concerned, 30% of the time is a great efficacy score. Think how many times in your life you've taken aspirin. Most of the time it doesn't work. Your headache persists. You're left cursing the pharmaceutical industry. If the drugs the pill mongers say should work don't work half the time, let's just switch everything to a placebo. It's cheaper, doesn't need to be tested on protohumans and primates, doesn't need to be developed in an expensive laboratory where people wear goggles and sterile lab coats, and the side effects are zero.

If the American government told everybody that they had developed a drug - which in fact was nothing at all (enter Placebo Effect) that effectively made the populace smarter, faster, stronger, better lovers, taller, better looking, more responsible, and genuinely happier, 30% of the American public would actually believe that their natural capacities for thinking, running, lifting, and so on were augmented and amplified due to this new wonder drug. If placebos really do affect 30% of participants, and these participants believe they have been improved, is this an entirely unethical social experiment. Deceptive? Absolutely. But through this deception millions of people will feel that their lives have been irreversibly improved. I say put an imaginary substance in our water supply. I could use the boost. Glub glub glub. I feel smarter already.

Egress Baltimore

For those of you who don't already know, Eric is on the move once again.

Now I know what you're thinking. "Eric," you're saying with an admonishing finger wag, "what are you doing, you wayward soul? You've become a gypsy of sorts."

But I'm moving for a reason. And this is like no other reason. I'm moving because of love.

"Certainly," you must be saying, "you haven't taken full advantage of everything that Baltimore has to offer." And to that I reply, "I've seen Johns Hopkins' campus, I've watched the Orioles lose two games, I've been stuck in traffic, I've stuffed myself at Vaccaros, I've eaten soft shell crab, and I've been to the eastern shore. The only exciting thing in Baltimore I haven't done is crack, and I think that's just a little too passe for me."

I am moving to Nashville, TN, not because of my love of bluegrass music or BBQ (though I am fond of BBQ), but because of my wonderful girlfriend, Donya. As I previously mentioned she will be attending Vanderbilt Law School this fall (lawbreakers beware!) and I wouldn't want to be without her. Since she objected to my chaining her up in my basement (claiming it was a bad career move), I opted instead to move with her to Nashville and attempt to enter Vanderbilt's creative writing program for the 2006-07 academic year.

Donya is worth the move. She's challenging. She's intelligent. She's beautiful. She's goofy. She's currently taking a nap...no, wait...she's going to watch a movie...she's deliberating on which movie to watch...no...she changed her mind and is going back to napping. And she's all mine. What lottery did I win?

July 24th will be our last day here. And we won't miss the ants in Donya's house, the hoodlums outside mine, the insane gas prices, the horrible drivers, or the people parked in the middle of the street with their hazards on. We won't miss the metropolitan squalor, the urban decay, or our jobs. And most importantly, we won't miss each other, because we'll be together.

Letter Accompanying Instructions

Dear consumer,

We are pleased that someone has purchased the BizzleCo. Dehydrated Vampire Kit for you. We hope that you are an accountable child of at least 10 years of age with a great interest in biology, necrology, and cryptology, as raising a vampire from a hairless rat-like nub to a sanguinary killing machine should not just be seen as a source of entertainment. Children who raise vampires develop necessary skills in leadership, accountability, caretaking, and tend to score higher on standardized tests. You have a great future ahead of you and a lot of fun too!

With just one 55 gallon container, a steady supply of water, and a little determination you too can have your very own vampire in no time. Within six weeks of thawing the cryogenically frozen ovum, you will have full-grown vampire. While all the other little brats on your block are growing sea monkeys and shagging fly balls, you'll be busy as a bee nurturing your own necromantic infant. Train him right, feed him often, and keep him out of direct sunlight and you'll have a veritable creature of the preternatural in no time. And a vampire is twice as much fun as a dog. Don't believe me? Here's a comment we received from a very satisfied customer:

A vampire is twice as much fun as a dog!
Smith M., Duluth, MN

There are a few ground rules before we start. We recommend that every child watch Gremlins and Child's Play as an educational tool. Pay attention to how terribly things go in these movies. Department stores are torn asunder, theaters are destroyed, and people get bitten. Take every necessary precaution while growing a vampire. Unleashing a plague of ill-begotten vampires onto an unsuspecting city could have dire results. A vampire should never be treated like a toy. It is definitely not a toy. It is a sacrilegious plaything. There is a difference, okay? Good. Let's get started.

You'll notice in your dehydrated vampire kit there is a bag that looks like it is filled with dirt. It is indeed filled with a nutrient rich soil that will be critical in the incubation stage of the vampire, the stage in which the fetus of the vampire develops. During this stage it is critical that you do not smoke or drink around your fetal bat-baby, or serious side effects could be incurred. For example, here is a user report from Donny B. In Denver, Co...

I made the mistake of hosting a party at my house and was careless with my incubating tank. Apparently one of my guests thought the vampire tank was a trash receptacle. Several full bottles of beer were thrown into the tank. The effects of this breach were not seen until several months later. There were manifold problems. We ended up having to terminate the vampire. A few of the many disturbances caused by the introduction of alcohol: the vampire complained of being constantly hungover, he preferred to feed on unsanitary vagrants and would routinely come up to me and slur drunkenly, "You, you...I know you. You guy. You." Do yourself a favor and grow your vampire as directed.

Thanks, Donny.

Now that mommy and daddy have agreed you're of an age where you're responsible enough to have a pet, it must be said that a vampire is a huge responsibility. Never neglect your vampire, as this may lead him to become depressed and inclined toward drug use. Don't spoil your vampire either. A spoiled vampire is worse than a spoiled child. It will refuse to leave the house and whine until goats, lambs, and doves are brought to him for consumption. Given that vampires need to feed several times a week, this can be quite a demanding task. And wouldn't it be a pain to have to spend all of your allowance on sacrificial farm animals instead of ice cream and popcorn? If you raise your vampire correctly, it will feed on its own, have a healthy attitude toward life, appreciate the benefits of the DARE program, and read literature instead of vegging out on television.

There's no telling how much fun you and your vampire will have. Follow the directions carefully, register your vampire with the proper authorities using the serial number on the included test tube, and don't be afraid to nurture him or her. Be forewarned that the period while the vampire is teething can be a very stressful time for both the vampire and the "parent." Patience and ice slivers are the keys to success.

BizzleCo. surrenders all rights and legal obligations included therein to the purchaser of the dehydrated vampire kit. Occasionally during manufacturing, werewolf and/or zombie fetuses are mistakenly shipped in the place of vampire. Should this occur, BizzleCo. will send an extermination team to remove the unwanted organism from the premises and a replacement vampire will be awarded free of charge.

Recipe for Mediocre Chicken Salad

To promote my own narcissism (what other purpose does a blog serve?) here's what I just ate: BBQ chicken salad.

It really wasn't a phenomenal chicken salad. But just in case anybody out there has a hankering for a mediocre chicken salad (I hear this is a common issue that behavioral psychologists are currently dealing with) here is the recipe.

1. find a dead chicken.
2. make sure it's dead by dropping it from a very high elevation.
3. remove one of the breasts.
4. heat a skillet with some olive oil.
5. cut up the chicken and cook it thoroughly.
6. place chicken in a bowl with the following ingredients:
1/2/ cup diced red onion
3 tablespoons relish
2 tablespoons pickled peppers
1 tablespoon mustard
2 tablespoon mayonnaise
4 tablespoons BBQ sauce
salt and pepper to taste
7. mix with vigor until your elbow tingles.
8. take a smoke break. If you don't smoke grab a Q-tip and pretend you do.
9. toast bread.
10. put chicken salad on bread.
11. eat it up.
12. leave the dishes for your roommate to clean up.

Bon apetit!

An Invention to Alter the Direction of Mankind

You know what America is missing? Another product to be sold at the register aisles in the grocery stores. We don't have enough of these products. At the moment there are roughly 40 different types of chocolate bars, 15 non-chocolate related gummy or taffy-like candies, some miscellaneous mouth rotting sticks and pods, and maybe 50 types of gum. I'm sorry, but 50 types of gum is just not enough.

The problem with the current state of chewiness is that every gum on the market is solid. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not prejudice against solid gum, I just think it's time the food engineers came up with a revolutionary gum that will change the way you chew gum. LIQUID GUM!

Imagine it. It tastes like gum. You can blow bubbles like gum. You can crack it like gum. If you're mischievous you can put it in your sister's hair like gum. Maybe it will even come in cool, refreshing flavors that claim to whiten your teeth like gum. But it's liquid.

Now I know in the eighties there was a gum that came with liquid in the center. These gums were usually fruit flavored or flavored like some Coca Cola product. But the liquid center was not really gum. Not in the traditional sense. It was more of a corn syrup prize awaiting eager masticators.

Liquid gum will come in all sorts of amazing flavors to. Raspberry. Lemonade. Coffee. Tea tree oil. Pork chop. Cilantro. Fennel. Water. And curry. It will be dispensed from gumball machines into little wax cups. Sold at grocery stores in 64 ounce bottles. But it is not recommended for children under 5 or children who cannot chew liquid responsibly. Children should not be allowed to swallow liquid gum.

Remember in high school or college, going into a lecture hall, folding out the desk leaf so you could have something to write on, and then being disgusted at the number of ABC (already been chewed) gum stuck to the bottom of the desk? Liquid gum would effectively eliminate these revolting artifacts of past gumming.

Think about it. If you're interested in helping develop this product don't hesitate to send me your life savings.

Donya's blog

In case any of you are interested in what demented masochist would date me, Donya - my girlfriend and so much more - has her own blog It's

Walking Puzzle

Donya's going to be attending Vanderbilt this fall. Today is our six month anniversary. Yippee hooray.

The plight of men

I've had my foot in my mouth for so long I chew with my toes.

Bienvenidos: Ingress, Digress, Digest

The first and the foremost;

Everyone knows what a blog is, right? So what can I say, by way of introduction, that hasn't already been said? That's either the eternal dilemma of the creative mind, or the tragic illusion of the pedestrian mind with aspirations to be creative.

For the sake of propriety I will welcome you to my blog. In this blog I hope to give those valued people in my life a chance to check in every once in a while. It will give you a chance to see what gems I have come up. And being a writer I should be able to post regularly and with ease. Check in every week, every month, or every year. It's up to you. But my brain will be converted from analog proteins to digital pulses whether you read the script bleeding from my ears or not. And I will do my best to keep things entertaining. Nobody wants to read somebody's thoughts and ruminations if they are not lively and robust. So if I have to lie and embellish to keep things from dragging on like a dog with worms, I will. That's my promise to you, the reader.

Hence the name of my site - Bizzle's Drizzles. Bizzle Fitz is a neologism, a permanent fixture in my logorrhea. It means hogwash, poppycock, flim flam, dilly dally, fibs, bullsh*t, duplicitous and apocryphal language. Sometimes it may mean confabulation (the act of lying without knowing that what you say is a lie). To respond "Bizzle Fitz!" to something is to yell - with the same fervor and patriotic zeal Thomas Jefferson would have yelled "Hands of my fritter, Franklin!" - and publicly admonish what has been said as pure and utter lunacy. It's euphemistic and lyrical.

Bizzle Fitz is my contribution to the English language. Or any language for the matter. If some Kosak wants to start saying Bizzle Fits and transliterates it into the Cyrillic alphabet, more power to him. In fact, I think it will be my life's goal (along with many other absurd tasks and imaginary accomplishments I'll certainly share with you) to go public with the term. Bizzle Fitz for all. I promise every person in America the right to bare arms, the right to bare skin, and the right to promote or condemn outlandish language with two simple cacophonous blurbs: BIZZLE FITZ!

Enjoy the drizzles.