It’s been a while since I’ve let the whimsy out of my sails and just blogged on here. I’ve become so entranced with the idea of this site that I’ve forgotten what blogs are for.
Blogs are for bullshitting.
And, my dear nonexistent readers, I bullshit with the best of them. I have a fucking DEGREE in bullshit. I went to a college, plunked down an unimaginable sum of money, and over a harsh period of unbelievably difficult training I mastered the fine art of bullshittery.
For days, I would stand upon the mountaintop and bullshit to the wind. For weeks I would stand upon the beaches and bullshit louder than the surf. My fellow students and I would bullshit with our instructors for hours about the smallest of things, and in those sparring sessions I would give as well as I got. Often better.
We learned what best to feed the bulls to have them produce the best shit for all occasions. If we needed the green splattery bullshit most appropriate for protracted sessions with large numbers of people, we would lovingly select the proper grains and push them through the organic Playdough Fun-Factory that make up a bull’s digestive system.
If we needed the solid snaking shits that are perfect for winding around counter arguments, we would select the finest beef and make cannibals out of those fucking bulls. And if we needed just a small kernel of logic inside our husks of bullshit, we would, of course use corn. Because what kind of shit jokes can you make without mentioning corn?
Yeah, I know.
But toilet humor aside, let us address the topic for today’s bullshit session. I will do so using only the finest, most scientifically sound processes — just hang on here a second and I’ll see what I come up with…..
“Comfort.” Our subject is comfort. Fortunately, my dear invisible fans, comfort is a subject upon which I am uniquely suited to expound. For you see, my adoring public, I fucking INVENTED comfort.
That’s right, before I was born, people sat naked on chairs made of glass covered in cushions woven from raw hempen rope. And the cushions were attached to the undersides of the chairs. Indeed, folks, the world was a dire place before I came along, let me tell you.
Before me, people used to eat plates full of sand. And they’d wash it all down with a delicious glass of bile. I tell you, brothers and sisters, those were the dark days.
Lay-Z-Boy put out a line of recliners made entirely from bear traps.
Toilets weren’t bowls, so much as they were protrusions designed to penetrate not only the most sensitive of sensitives — but to excrete lemon juice when they were finished.
Indeed, my friends, I truly saved mankind. Unfortunately, I’m out of space and I can’t really go into how I did it.
But take my word from it, the next time winter comes and you sink into a soft leather couch in front of a roaring fire, cover yourself in a down comforter, and snuggle with your favorite silken pillow while drinking a glass of sherry and reading selectively from your battered copy of Walden… you’ll want to send me a silent prayer of thanks.
Don’t worry, I’ll hear it. I’m good like that.