Taco Bell Submits To My Dastardly Whims

Merely months after McDonalds brought back the McRib temporarily, somebody at Taco Bell corporate finally got hit by my orbital mind control lasers, because they have brought back the holy grail of taste with the Club Chalupa. But what's this? They've changed it up somewhat to appeal to discerning restauranteurs. By calling it the Bacon Chalupa. And making it out of more bacon. I'm pretty sure they're setting a trap for me, where they will lay down a trail of Chalupas in the desert in order to lure me back to their cheap condo.

Oh, I'll put up some resistance at first. I'm not the kind of girl that you can just bring home with promises of deliciousness and expect to get past fifth base. But eventually, Taco Bell will brush my hair away from my ears, and whisper to me seductively, and tell me I'm pretty. Maybe the morning after I'll feel that bitter little twang, the sickening symphony of rationality telling me it was just the heat of the moment. But then I'll be full of bacon. I'll take the top down on the way home, and the chilly morning air will follow me the whole ride.

Trickle Down

Each day

We receive an alloted amount of creativity.

I probably get more than you.

In fact, I probably get more

Than you and your circle of friends

Put together.

This is because Fate loves me.

Probably because I'm asian.

As each hour ticks by

Witty retorts

Brilliant pieces of code

And drug seeking behaviour

Reduce the amount of creativity remaining.

Kind of like a gas tank

Full of methamphetamine.

I have a pretty big side project.

It's hard.

Like, calculus hard.

Difficult projects excite me.

So now I'm all over it

Like Rain Man.

Every day the sun goes down.

And most people go to sleep

And have the dreams

That fill up their tanks

Like a coke mule receiving his parcel.

Except of course

That dreams don't always hurt.

But I can't work forever.

I will be back

Very, very soon.

Sex Is Not The Narrative

Seriously, I don't know how anybody can get off on so-called 'literary erotica'. The romance novel, literary kindling to the fire that consumes the X chromosome, is such a tedious experience that I really just can't wrap my mind around it. But then again, you know, appealing to the Other White Gender is good for ratings and all, so here's some absolutely typical feminine style idiot wordporn.

It all begins in a place that's full of rich peoples' stuff, like shiny cars and chandeliers and tablecloths and underwear without noticeable stains. The stunning, single, and totally not fat heroine, who wakes up in the morning with full makeup and a Christian Dior formal dress is just hanging out, being all rich and stuff, when all of a sudden Lestat shows up at the door, delivering mail or something.

"ZOMG UR HAWT", said Lestat. "I AM TEH CALL JACK SPARROW NOW AND WE AM WILL WORSHIP UR HAWTNESS."

"NO THAT IS TOO MUCH TROUBLES", said the Heroine. "NEVER MIND OKAY CALL."

"WE AM NOT HAVE TAG TEAMING YOU ON TEH MINDBRAINZ CUZ WE ARE ALL TEH GENTLESMANS AND STUFFS," screamed Lestat as he rippled his bulging musculature and his shirt accidentally fell off.

"TAHTS OKAYS, I AM TEH LADY AND NEVER THINKS OF THINGS LIKES THAT," whispered the Heroine breathlessly. "EXCEPT SECRETSLY I DO ALL THE TIME."

"AND IF WE DO MENAGE A TWAT WE AM NEVER HIGH FIVE EACH OTHARS OVER UR BACK, KTHX," Lestat said intently. His piercing gaze was like smoldering embers. He stepped forward, all manly-like, while the Heroine retreated, fixing him with a lengthy, demure look.

"HAI, I AM TEH JACK SPAROW" said the Pirate, crashing through the window as he swung in on a rope affixed to god knows what.

"I AM TEH SLIP INTO SOMETHING MORE NOTHING AT ALL," the Heroine concluded intelligently. She was still totally hot and not fat at all. Also, her thighs were totally silky, because they say that in every romance wordporn evar.

Some boring, lengthy foreplay began. Then there was more boring, lengthy foreplay.

"I AM TEH LOVE BORING LENGTHY FOREPLAYS," said Lestat. Or maybe the Pirate.

"DON'T INVADE ME, EXCEPT DO. KTHX," begged the Heroine.

"I AM HOLE-IN-ONE THREE STROKES UNDER PAR," said the Pirate. Erm, urgently.

"IN SOVIET RUSSIA YOU TAG-TEAM US," said Lestat.

"DO ME LIKE BIG PHARMA IS DOING AMERICA," said the Heroine.

They did. ("OW", said the Heroine.)

"KTHX, WE AM MAKING SAMMICHES IN UR KITCHEN AND LEAVING," said Them Both.

The Heroine paused to reflect, heroinically, thinking of her great love for them and how she might never see them again. She glanced at herself in the mirror. She was totally hot and not fat at all.

On Waking Up And Finding Everyone Frozen At Absolute Zero

As I warm to this Edward Scissorhands wonderland
I think to myself what I might have done
To secure your attention.
You keep my drink nice and cool.
Like some thermos of desire.

As I switch heads of people standing in line
Realizing that even my motion generates kelvin
To end this dream.
My heat is the crucible of the world;
But your heads are switched, so we are Even.

I range on and on,
Moving people into awkward and embarassing positions,
Taking candid photographs for blackmail purposes.
Eventually everyone will thaw.
Or I will freeze.
But hopefully I won't freeze like you,
With my pants around my ankles
And several cups balanced precariously on my head.