End of Year Goals

12 Goals

 

$ touch the flaming dove

So I’m low on inspiration. I shouldn’t worry– it happens to even the most inspirationful of us. Take, for example, a young Zigford Stardust. The year is 1972, and he is one of the most prolific imaginary singer-songwriters around. Yet even at the heights of his profligacy, he admitted to muse-struggles. “Inspirations have I none, just to touch the flaming dove”
Why won’t everyone just let him touch this stupid firebird? Tezuka– is this your doing?

He is saying "ehhhhh!"

"I start fires in my spare time; I started one fire" -- Dude was a for real medical doctor in his time off from drawing like a thousand pages of comics a year

Quoth the Flaming Dove, “Please de-ignite me,” and “Oh Jaysus– Moi Wengs!”

I think he may have meant pussy or dick

"I need these wings un-singed in order to generate sufficient lift! Even the slightest burns could be my death sennntennnce!!!"

“Oh good, help has arrived! … why, why are you just touching me?? I. Can someone please help?!?”

Sure– doves are tough to come by– but does anyone have a problem finding pigeons? As far as I remember (about 50,000 beers / 27 years), those two birds are basically the same bird except one is more racially pure and therefore the international symbol of peace. Also has a real nasty olive branch habit

A stipple portrait of a dove on olives; caption: I just like feeling the oil squish between my toes– I just need to feel that cherry pop

Did You Know?… that that is how we get our olive oils– Doves. Doves are gross. Doves have a major-league creepo obsession with virginity. Doves look at promise rings and get hard they look at broken promise rings aka cherry ghosts and get softer than a sackful of Super Pretzels aka The Soft Kind. Doves are to olives as Jihadis are to ghost girls in heaven. I mean, I assume the only way Heaven can supply that many dead virgins is if they are making them the sad way. Or, I guess, rapidly exhausting their stores of history’s unfuckables. Did You Know?… that Osama bin Laden got to deflower Emily Dickinson? Sorry, untouched English Graduate students!

Doves flock around purity balls/weddings like vultures and those preverted dads stupidly think it is a sign from God. Even Chad Barrister, the first straight dad to make it through a purity ball without getting at least halfway there thinking about the honeymoon! Amongst chastity dads it’s referred to as ‘Living on a Prayer’.

Anyways, Doves are the Telly of Olives and we should be glad that they are on fire.
Touch them to let them know that you know and that you don’t care.
Touch them to send them to hell.

 

$ become fluent, literate in nature

Right now it’s just English, and barely that. Maybe if I learn nature I can trick a bee into marrying me for it’s honey! I ain’t saying I’m some Dutch Gold digger, it’s just that you won’t see me messing with no broke chiggers

I love you and I love your eyes

Get down, chel(icerae), go head: get down

GOOD NEWS, LADIES– I DON”T actively court rashes and disease!!!

…Ladies????

 

$ lock in that money back guarantee on future happiness

If Time = Money then Money = Time
*R*E*F*L*E*X*I*V*E*

Imagine what a life you could lead if you could ensure that any and all heartbreaks would be paid back in full, either in time or in cash? If you could insure against the dumb fickleness of folks stupid hearts? What would your premiums be?

$$$ Kisses? in quantity or quality? each kiss 17% less so
$$$ Intensity of Experience?
$$$ Love? Is it Love? Capital “L” love? Would you always be just , not quite?

And whither the Couple Default Swaps? They’re trading out of control. Somebody knows something. A fuck bubble looms and those who are supposed to burst those sorts of things are asleep at the steel?

CURSE YOU< BIG AFFECTION!

 

$ fuck the shit out of Pocahontas

Genocide is terrible; let me taste your daughter; I will pay in pelts; so many pelts; 1000 pelts; thanks.

 

$ to be the world’s youngest old fool

I’m already daffy/punch-drunk, so that’s a start. And I’m foolish. Old? A little, but not quite.

OLD: I’ve got to start being more susceptible to scams; lonelier; softer-hearted.
OLD: I’ve got to stop remembering where I am all the time, stop restraining myself from interjecting in strangers’ conversations, stop not stopping at yard sales and public social events.
FOOL: I already like dancing, and I already believe I can dance and sing.
FOOL: I wrote a poem once about my prodigious ability to fall in love it goes:

here

 

$ be the most beautiful creep

Gonna really Branded to Kill my way up the creepranks, one unpleasant fuck scenario at a time!

Oh yeah Oh yeah Oh yeah

R.I.P. Insomniac Music Theater http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8Fko54hJZU

Look out, Chili– behindja!

You’re probably safe, Young Thom Yorke!

And this is a flattering picture

Everytime he goes on about Noam Chomsky just think about the video for Pop Is Dead

No matter how blonde you bleach your hair, no matter how neon a funeral you arrange…

 

$ start collecting old European coins

In need of a hobby? Join me in buying up old pre-Euro coins. There seems to be an ok chance they’ll be relevant again soon. Very Soon.

unnnngh, Maria Montessori

18 of me will get you: a cup of espresso, a gelato maybe, off

That’s how currency works, right? When a new one fails they just start re-using the old stuff?

 

$ BLACKOUT

Though my love of nitrogen narcosis and its resultant effects is well known (see http://tinyurl.com/nitronarco), I’ve never actually blacked-out myself. I know!

A good reality show would be called “On The Brink Of Death.” It would be seemingly impossible to insure, but if Croc Hunter got its bond why can’t this? What? By a ray? Oh, Danny– how comes?

Dan Akroyd had to be flattered by his cartoon equivalent

Jealous that Steve looked better in a tan onesie than him, no doubt

Episode one: a supervised trip through the magic world of Nitrogen Narcosis. I get to do it because it was my idea. Since it would be equally unsafe for those supervising to be human beings with lungs and blood, we’ll get those kewl tiny yellow submersible robots to accompany me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOTE: I think I conflated ALVIN and the Yellow Submarine and Ripley’s suit from the end of Aliens with Servbot. SAD.

When I blackout they will grab me in their tiny claw arms and tug me to the surface.
No, wait. Not my shirt, I’ll say, delirious on N.

 

$ spread honey

I haven’t had a KFC biscuit in ages, I can’t remember the last time I requested a side of honey for my fries. McDonald’s, circa 1992 probably.

Honey– where are you? Where did you go? I miss you, Honey.
I miss you so much.

One day you will be gone forever so we should make the most of now.

 

So spread.

 

$ fall into your human hands

Do your hands go giganto or do I get real tiny?

Advantages/disadvantages:

Giganto: I don’t have to be tiny the rest of my life (advantage); it’s only your hands that get huge and fall-in-a-ble so you will from thereon be officially ‘gross’ (disadvantage)

Tiny: exciting ant-riding, sprinkler-fearing, bee-riding, why was there a scorpion again?, cheerio-riding thrillride of the summer (advantage); the FUCKING chess battle (disadvantage)

 

$ to be a cobra

I fucked up. I did it backwards. I spent my twenties in a state of austere over-seriousness plus anxiety-ridden timidity and domestic senescence. Now I just want to eat pussy!

That’s what cobras do, right?
Mind the fangs, debilitating venom!

 

$ I just want pants that fit

So good. Perfect ass forever.

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