Since the dawn of civilization man has wondered if we are alone in the universe. Staring up at the stars at night and cursing the heavens, hoping that somewhere out there, there was some other beings to blame for the bout dysentery that had befallen their homes, or the new and exciting plague that (insert animal or food item here) had brought to town. And now with the Economy in the state that it’s in, and the growing number of obese children roaming our streets at night we must once again consider the possibility of extra terrestrial interference.
I’m sure you are aware of the Roswell incident of 1947? Well, what if I told you that that very same year America’s rabid raccoon problem increased by 130%? Would you believe me? If so, you and I could become very good friends. The kind of friends that excuse themselves from a dinner table to go to the bathroom and dish about the seared salmon that they ordered. And if you don’t believe me then I would kindly ask that you never read anything again, for clearly you’re not a person logic and reasoning but rather someone who probably attends movie theaters just to sit directly behind some poor soul and make loud lip smacking noises through the entire film and then rub the excess butter from your popcorn into the back of their hair you animal. At any rate, the point I’m tying to make is that aliens landed in New Mexico in 1947 and injected our woodland friends with Rabies, end quote.
Now then, since the Roswell incident which will from here on be referred to as The Day of Raccooning…thank you, there have been an increased number of strange events occurring with greater frequency toward the end of the twentieth century. They are as follows:
The Bread Famine of 1952. The British Invasion of 1964. The Milk Man Vanishings, 1972. Death By Chocolate, 1983. The Wonka Factory Meltdown, 1991. The White House Relocation Act of 1994. 9/11 Number One, 1998. The Y2K Rice and Bottled Water Shortage, 2000. The Asian Invasion, 2001, the musical revolution that began with the band Fu Yung Beatles and their break out hit ” I want to hold your feet in a bound position for several years so they won’t grow”.
As you can tell from this well researched and non-fictitious time line, aliens are visiting us, and we might as well get used to it. I for one welcome our new overlords, and if you happen to come in contact with our all-knowing and all-powerful rulers, here are a few very important questions that I advise you to ask them. They are as follows:
Who do you think you are?
Just where do you get off?
What do I look like to you?
How could you?
What does existence mean?
End of list.
Thank you for reading.
It’s 2012 you guys, a big election year. On one hand you got Mitt Romney right? On the other hand you got the Prez, the big O, I’m talkin about the Obaminator right? Which one you gonna pick guys? Let’s break this thing down for a minute and maybe it will all become clear. Obama is this guy that’s like, “I don’t want to make anybody upset, so I’m gonna start givin everyone free medicine and shit.” And then you got Romney, and his whole thing is like, “Hey, I feel like Obama’s not doin a very good job because the rich people need more guns.” But the thing is Obama has already got like, four years of president experience, and that’s like a huge advantage over Romney who doesn’t have any. Romney is more like the green lantern because he’s all,” This is like my first time doing this but I already think I got it figured out.” But then Obama is more like those little purple guys that sit on the high rocks in that movie, because he’s like, ” Listen, I’ve been doin this shit for a little while now, and I’ve pretty much got it figured out.” So what I’m basically sayin is that when you go to cast your vote just keep in mind that both Romney and Obama both, really want this, but above all else just try to have fun. Cool.
Oh, the things that must happen outside my window, after the midnight hour. When all are asleep, or supposedly at least, in their chambers, high up in their towers. The homeless take shelter under benches and trees while gang bangers lay waste to a man in the street. “Rapscallions are they!”, I say as I watch from the comfort of my loft five stories up from the lot. And as my eye lids grow heavy something catches my attention. Is the girl across the way unaware she has no clothes on to mention? At first I’m ashamed, my face red as as can be, but then I think wait, perhaps she wants me to see. So I grab the binoculars that lay upon my window seal. Why were they there? That’s something I care not to reveal. I then begin to discover her body in ways I never thought possible. Is it me or is she trying to turn me on by eating that waffle? And suddenly she glances and I give her a wave, clearly she yearns to connect in a more intimate way. She then picks up the phone, without knowing my number? Who is this woman who posses such magical (nothing rhymes with number that works here, I checked). The cops arrived moments later, oh the games she does play, but don’t worry my sweet I’ll be back again someday, to behold all the magic that the night has to offer just outside my window, five stories up with an otter. (I got really sick of rhyming at the end)
Last night I had a dream. A dream so vivid and moving that it would make the great Doctor Marin Luther King soil his freshly pressed, un-assassinated trousers with envy. I’m talking about a dream where I, Bryant Brown, raped the devil. It wasn’t easy, not even in dream land, to convince him to come back to my apartment even after buying him several whiskey sours (a drink that he showed a particular affinity for). But once he allowed himself to be taken out far enough on the sea of bad judgement by sweet lady alcohols swift under current I made my move.
When first we entered my apartment I began to further lure him into a state of trust by making us both a cup of coffee. One cup, that we both shared, for I own but a single mug, and soon enough heavy petting had begun. I began to raise the stakes by removing my besequined Tap-Out shirt revealing my freshly bronzed abs. He matched me by removing his snow white over coat made of polar bear hide, what a monster. I began to take things further by slowly removing my black pleather pants.
I could feel him, even amongst all the sweaty groping and heavy breathing, becoming more and more uncomfortable, and soon he let me know. “Maybe we should slow down.” He said, but I continued as if I had heard nothing. “Hold on.” He said, now trying to shove me off, but I was not easing up, not when I was this close. “Bryant stop!” He shouted, a tone of fear in his voice. “No” I said, “this is happening for real”. I then grabbed his head and forced his face into one of my satin pillows to muffle his feeble cries for help.
With a sense of urgent fury, I ripped off his pants of dead orphan skin and set about doing the deed I had been preparing myself for all night. Between all of the muffled moans and cries he made I could barely make out the words “Why Bryant? Why this way?”, to which I softly whispered in his ear “You, never even thanked me for the drinks.”
The dream ended after that, and now it’s time for me to face the real world where we can’t simply rape all of our problems away. My only hope is that this tale brings you some sort of comfort in knowing that no matter how tough life becomes, no matter how impossible the obstacles appear, you always have your dreams. And with enough ambition and perseverance you too can rape the Devil. Goodnight internet.
It’s Tuesday, today a child is born. Today, a war is fought. Today, an innocent man is sentenced death by chocolate. But what makes this Tuesday different from any other Tuesday you ask? Well, today is the day that nobody dies. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, just as Nickleback proclaimed we will finally see the day that nobody dies. Subsequently this must also mean that everyone cares and nobody has cried, also everyone loves and nobody lied, for those four actions are the only four that will bring about this day of miracles, thus speaketh the unnaturally scratchy voice of Chad Kroegar. So go now children, play in the streets, try to touch the sea floor, lick every toad and black man you can find for today we live! Amen we’re alive, we’re alive!
Obama Care? More like Obama where? More like Osama there (In the ground) allegedly! The land of the free? Oh say, where can it be? A fleeting memory! You take my kids? You take my wife? I don’t have kids! I don’t have wife! I have knife. Let me serve you a slice of humble pie. American pie! American lie! Kony 2012!
Dear North Carolina,
Nice, you’ve shown the amount of tolerance and maturity that one would come to expect from a state who had the smallest, per ca-pita contribution, (only 7,800 men) to the continental army during the revolutionary war. That’s right, we haven’t forgotten. And while we’re on the subject, what’s the deal with your name? There’s already another Carolina who, as of right now, is fine with the idea of two men expressing their love for one another through the bond of marriage. Oh wait. Never mind…sorry. But even so, here are a few other names that I have come up with for you. Feel free to pick one: Hitlerville, KKKentucky, Pretty-Much-Grass land, The Poor Mans Louisiana, Jerry. Jerry is my uncle’s name. Have you met my uncle Jerry? No? You guys would probably get along, he’s also scared of things that are different. Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. I hope you’ll give my name suggestions some thought! Screw you.
- Bryant Brown
The very first episode of Weird Thoughts Radio, my new music/comedy podcast. Please don’t judge it too harshly it will get better…maybe.
Chris stared out at the highway before him. He watched as the yellow streaks quickly disappeared, one by one, beneath the front of his brand new, Nissan Altima hybrid. He gave a glance over to the passenger seat, where Sandra, his girlfriend of five years, sat. Although, lately he had been thinking that perhaps it was time she became more than just his girlfriend, in fact, it had become the only thought that inhabited his mind, aside from today of course. Today the only thing he could think about was how the Altima, being both eco-friendly and economically efficient, seemed to almost glide, rather than roll, down that thin strip of blistering asphalt.
A sudle smile formed across Sandras face, as she gazed out the passenger side window. She was enthralled by the natural beauty that passed by, almost too quickly, before her. She couldn’t believe that there was almost four hundred miles between her and her home town of Springfield Illinois, and not once had they needed to stop for gas. Of course this should come as no surprise, seeing as the Altima gets an astonishing thirty two miles per gallon on the highway. But this was still all so new to Sandra, who managed to take her eyes off of the tree line and shift them to Chris who then looked over to her. Their eyes locked but they said nothing. Without a word they new what the silence meant. The silence that remained unbroken by the Altimas quiet hybrid motor.