This reads like an Onion article, complete with a punchline at the end.
Assemblyman Defends Wearing Blackface to a Party
Missed connections fascinate me because it’s yet another way Internet is changing how minds express themselves beyond the physical. Writing a letter or book doesn’t quite compare because they’re not infinite. They are somehow more subjugated by scarcity. I think it’s because, instinctually, we can tell that Internet will someday be available to even everyone who cannot afford books or stationery.
A New Yorker write-up about Louis CK
That gulf between life and art, and the interplay between the two, has itself been a deepening source of the show’s dramatic tension. The Louie we see in cramped apartments and subways is a perplexed man, sweating and anxious, who is often nothing more than a tongue-tied, sometimes entirely mute—but always wide-eyed—witness to the petty, vile, and mystifying spectacles of life in the city. We are always surprised by the contrast between this inarticulate, lonely guy and the person who walks around onstage, calm and fluent, confident and shrewd. The painful, necessary process of finding the right words to make sense of the stupefactions of life, finding the jokes to give it structure and the audience with whom share it: that is the refrain of “Louie.”
Noir Fiction
I finally got access to my Twitter archive. By request, here are my #noirfiction tweets from quite a ways back:
She was a nutty broad, with hair that was bonkers, and legs that just didn’t make any sense at all #noirfiction
She had a pair of legs that wouldn’t quit, no matter how politely you asked #noirfiction
She was the kind of dame where you couldn’t wait for her to leave so you could write about her on your blog #noirfiction
It was a dark and stormy…. DAY #noirfictiontwists
Her legs only went halfway up and then there was just an inescapable shrieking void, like all women #noirfictiontwists #noirbydavesim
She had legs that went all the way up, and so did the rest of her. “Get back down here,” I said. She looked at me and said “No” #noirfiction
She had a nice set of legs, and then a second, less-nice set she’d found in her foyer. That’s why she came to me. #noirfiction
Her legs were like a metaphor, and the imagery they brought to mind was extreme evocative #noirfiction
She had a body like a poem, and a face like a limerick #noirfiction
She was a real classy broad: top hat, monocle, tuxedo, twirled mustache… oh wait #noirfiction
Normally a dame like this would put me on every edge I had, but nectarines were in season and I had an entire bag. #noirfiction
She had a torso and then two weird lower limbs sticking out of the bottom of it. What were those things #noirfiction
I never cared for conversation, so I let my gun do the talking. Problem was, he was shy too #noirfiction
It’s a dirty job in a dirty city, but I’m not the cleanest guy so that’s fine by me. The name’s Paul Blart… Mall Cop. #noirfiction #blart
He had a face like a stack of pancakes and whenever he talked he sprayed butter and syrup everywhere #noirfiction
She stormed into my office like a hurricane, swinging her arms around and knocking over all my things. “Hey,” I said. #noirfiction
She had a face like this :) and a pair of legs to match < #noirfiction
She had a nice face. It was pretty. She was in my office. I was a detective! It was my first day of being a detective. #noirfiction
She had a pair of legs that ended in rollerskates and the kind of body that could stay upright #noirfiction
She had a face like a zen koan: thought-provoking but impossible to figure out #noirfiction
DAY 5 WITHOUT PIZZA: i can’t go back to pizza, i’ve been burned (literally) too many times. </3
This resonates with me in more ways than one.
Chicken Noodle Spiritual
Here I am,
I ain’t got a dick, I got a chicken noodle can.
All my life,
I been puttin’ this can inside my chicken noodle wife.
Chicken Noodle God come down from the mountain,
Sayin’, “Chicken Noodle Man, you gotta work all day.
Chicken Noodle Man gotta cross the river Jordan,
Feed the Devil soup until your troubles go away.”
This is more than just a silly song from a silly podcast.
It’s about owning your personal deformity. Pour your chicken noodle soup into your role as whatever you are, because this is all there is for you. Your existential imperative from God is to recognize, then accept, then slave away at your identity.
But fear not. This, ironically, is how you cross the river Jordan. This is how you break out of this plane.
This is what the Abrahamic God (in the form of Jesus) and the Buddha and Vishnu (in the form of Krishna) and Kierkegaard are all about. Your relationship with the eternal heavily involves embracing the disposable. What you do with it is up to you, and anything you do is correct. But just recognize that what is bound by time, space, and perspective is one aspect of an infinite whole.
P.S.: “Troubles go away” isn’t really the right phrase because it’s more about transforming your troubles into just something that exists alongside everything else.
Same joke, different execution.
This is why I believe Randall Munroe should just have a blog with diagrams, not a comic. He has really interesting ideas and cool insights. He has a gift for visualization. But most of the jokes in his comics seem awkward and it makes me anxious for him.
On the other hand, Anthony Clark is a joke machine.
