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Wednesday, 05 August 2009

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Monday, 03 August 2009

Scattered Showers in the Star Wars "Urineverse"

We were at Waffle House last night and far be it by me to let the greasy spoon inhabitants to get bored, but sometimes I use my deduction skills to come up with some weird stuff. Trust me, if I'm using the word "weird" to describe what's going on inside my head, I'm either drunk or hyped up on coffee at this juncture.For some reason the conversation turned over to Star Wars and we were already on the subject of going to the bathroom, so I considered the largest object ever conceived in science fiction and whether or not it had any restrooms. Of course, when movies are set in a very serious and epic format, going to the toilet is never mentioned. Now, in order to make my case, I had to do the unspeakable and do actual research for something..... a little nerdy. I don't care what you say, I had to have some numbers to go by. Before I get comments about how it's not real, your mother is and so were her orgasms.Ok, here we go. According to The Technical Book of Science Fiction Films, the population of the Death Star was approximately 31,622,963. I have no earthly idea how someone thinks of this, but those same people probably also have no idea how I get mine. I got this information here, so check it out yourself (yes, people do talk about these things). I'm fairly sure someone got beat up pretty badly to come up with this number, but we're going to use it for the sake of argument. Now let's say the average person squeezes the dragon at least three times per 24-hour period. The average output of urine daily could be somewhere around a healthy 2000ml, which is about 0.53 gallons. This means every day the Death Star is not only losing massive imaginary amounts of food and drink including the Snapple machines, it's populous is producing around 16,696,925 gallons of pee pee; not to mention that's 94,868,889 trips to the potty. Here's the problem. Where does all of this fictional piss go? Do they have a Giant Death Star Pissy Puddle Recycling Plant, where Storm Troopers eventually end up drinking the last shift's green tea? Even if that were the case, you still have those pesky laws of science which makes sure matter never goes away; so basically, it has to go somewhere. Since outer space is immensely freezing, you would have to shoot the pee out at high velocities to keep it from freezing up on the outside shell and thus making the Death Star, the Big Pee Ball with Green Planet Blower-upper Thingy. No one wants their planet obliterated by a giant ball of frozen piss.Firing streams of urine would result in giant yellow icicles moving at speeds only the Flash and William Hung's singing career can imagine. At 65,881 gallons per minute, you can be sure that eventually planets, spaceships, and the occasional droid will be impaled by an enormous pissicle the size of the Craken's penis and utterly humiliated by anyone that narrowly escaped death at the hands of this golden shower javelin - A much more embarassing death than falling out of one of Bob Ross' happy little trees.The next time you're at Waffle House, I guarantee you're going to remember Star Wars and the deadly tinkle spears falling out of the sky faster than the speed of thought. If the atmosphere's like ours, it might just splash down over you with a slight chance of Sith juice in there somewhere. Then the force will be with you like you wouldn't believe.

Saturday, 01 August 2009

Into the Mind of Nothingness - Part 2
There are several things that come to mind when faced with utter boredom. Many people claim to be "random". They have not even a clue as to what that means. Just to say "I am random" first of all, doesn't really mean anything. Here's the definition of the word random from yourdictionary.com :
adjective
1. lacking aim or method; purposeless; haphazard
So basically, these same people have an agenda and very direct path in life to tell you plainly, "I am purposeless". Although I can very honestly communicate with you that my thought patterns aren't really patterns and are very random (without purpose or method), just like getting your rocks off, there's a sweet release to be gotten whenever I share my ideas with the general populous.Last night I was talking to a friend on the phone and I suddenly thought that, for the sake of evolution, people should be bred with little pockets of deodorant that grow on your armpits like pimples, then all you have to do is simply pop it and rub it in. Sure, the scientific results could prove to be poisonous to humans in the beginning stages, but you know what they say about making omelets.After that half-hour conversation, I then thought it should be mandatory by law that cereal be sold together with a serving of milk (at least until the milk goes bad; then you could separate 'em). Not only that, but also it would come with a spoon at a perfect size and every portion is calculated by top scientists to make the milk/cereal ratio come out completely even every time. Your very last bite would consist of an even amount of both milk and cereal....as long as you're not a criminal and try to make it end up different. An attempt like that would make damn well sure according to the full extent of the law that you're stripped down naked and stapled to AstroTurf while senior citizens play miniature golf without their glasses around your body and you pray to God that they don't lose track of the ball. Old people get mad when roughage gets in the way of their shot.Even though sometimes I think things would be easier if people would just do things because I just came up with them, not all of my ideas should be performed by children, pregnant woman, and midgets with heart conditions. For instance, I believe that the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba should send everyone who's forced to watch their program psychedelic mushrooms so that we can understand what the hell they tried to come up with. All women should be required to join a gym and get breast augmentations at seventeen years of age (if they're naturally big, we could let it slide until they do). To be fair, all men should be required to have one wife and three mistresses.....yeah, that'll teach us. Greasy cheesburgers should come with a pair of prosthetic hands that will hold on to said burger as we hold on to them for the sole purpose of not having to wipe our greasy hands on our pants which results in our wives having to stop working out and wash our pants... That would be counter productive.The hand could then be donated to local bands of gorillas to help scoop their poop and have cleaner, more efficiant launches at passers-by.In the hopes to understand me better, remember that people aren't random. The phrase in general is about as annoying as the word "bromance". I'm sorry, but if you got romance going on with your brother, there's another word for that.