On the cab ride home last night, the driver asked me about my accent. He said I sound “almost Southern”, which I assume means Southern American. Now, combine this with the times I mentioned a few days ago and I have to assume one of three things:
- I talks damn funny and everyone hears it and thinks I’m some foreign freak.
- I, as an independant nation, am developing an accent all my own.
- This cab driver religiously reads this website, saw my previous post and wanted to mess with me.
Of those, #2 is my favorite option. Heck, even #3 would be cool because it implies that someone actually reads this website. But most likely #1 is at fauly. I curse the Aztec god of vocalization for this. I think his name was Talkzectotl.
In other news, there was an article about police using tasers against people and a couple people have died or whatever. The most important part came when a professor from the University of Miami was asked her opinion. She said “The issue of police brutality is simply wrong. That’s not to say it can’t occur, but when police are confronted by someone exhibiting superhuman strength like a Hulk Hogan… what can they do?”
It pleases me greatly to see that scholars recognize Hulk Hogan’s superhuman strength. And they say there’s no good news.
My next post will be another offering from the defunct Ape Slave Training Manual. A prose piece starring a character who would have turned up in prose pieces every few issues, if the thing had not been cancelled before half of it was completed.
I have been recieving an abnormally high number of static electrical shocks lately. Way more than is typical. When I mention this to other people, almost all of them state that this has been happening to them too. What can this mean? Global Warming is a hoax. The real crisis is Global Static Increase. This will surely kill us all, even me, unless we do something about it. I don’t know what that something should be, but I hope it involves rubbing balloons on my head and sticking them to walls. Balloons are awesome. They’re thin plastic filled with air!
Some pizza delivey guy was on the elevator today and he said “It sounds like you have an American accent, are you American?” I’m not. But about a year ago, when I took over new staff at work one of them said something along the lines of “We were trying to figure out your accent, is it French?” and I can remember something years ago about someone somewhere also asking about my accent. What is it about my way of speaking that sounds so foreign? At the very least I am hoping that the pizza guy hated Americans and would have slain me had I been one, because that would mean I avoided that fate.
Finally, last time I showed you a page from the Fun And Games section of my now abortioned magazine. The second page of the Fun And Games section was not made up, but it was written. It would have been a full page of text. Here is what it would have said:
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?
You helped a necrophile escape justice?
Think of the families of his victims!
You sicken me!
Around the beginning of the year, I happily foreshadowed something called the Ape Slave Trading Manual. This was going to be a little magazine thing put out by Marq and myself in which we could write/draw/do pretty much whatever nonsense we wanted and nobody could stop us even the President. I was really excited about the whole thing.
But Marq lost interest pretty quickly (even though it was his idea in the first place) and I have to face it, it’s just not going to happen. But I don’t want to waste all the stuff that would have gone into the magazine, so I am going to start bringing it to you here. Some of it (like the main photo story which was never finished and my article about how happy I was to have a magazine) will be lost, but I’ll salvage what I can.
Today I bring you what would have been the “Fun and Games” section. A maze!
On the plus side, maybe now that I am finally willing to admit my dreams of the magazine have been crushed, I will be able to write for the site here again. That’s a plus…
