Practical Solutions.

Sports and Health-care Why don't hockey teams put a sumo wrestler in the goal? Tiny little goal, big fat fellow, seems sort of obvious to me. And if you can't find a Japanese guy simply throw in a fat mid-western housewife or something. Anyone with the right girth will do. They don't even need to know how to skate. Just have the teammates escort this behemoth out on the ice and shove 'em between the posts. All this person has to do is stay put and wheeze for long enough to survive the playoffs. Hell, it could even be a diabetic stroke victim that had to lose a foot at some point. There are plenty of those around, more than you'd think. High-fructose corn syrup is cheap. Let's put these people to good use and take some of the burden off of our failing health-care system. Good ideas like these will save western democracy. I'll make sure of it. Even if it kills us all. By the way: if athletes injure themselves I don't want to see them automatically end up first in line for treatment. He won't be able to play anymore? Good, fuck him. He knew what he was getting into when he laced up. They are no more important than anyone else on that list. The guy's shuffling around a piece of leather on a field with his friends all day. We won't be losing a cure for cancer here. Death and Burial When I die my request is to not be buried. No cremation for me either, thanks. I have some rather specific wishes I want carried out by my family and friends. Dress up, festively and in vibrant colours. Wear funny hats and shoes. Party it up. Drink, smoke, snort, huff, inject or freebase whatever you want. But do it for at least two days before and after the ceremony. Drag my body into a desert of your choice. Place my corpse upon a black plinth three stories in height. Wait until the sun is setting in the west and that magic hour arrives. And at the very right moment; blow the entire thing to pieces in a huge fucking fireball of destructive power. Then cheer loudly as tiny pieces of debris and my body parts rain down upon you. Don't worry, there will be umbrellas available for the more conservative among you. Airport Security Let's face it, we probably won't be able to make all aspects of air travel completely safe from attacks by crazy people. Instead of investing billions of dollars world wide on trying to check all the passengers I've come up with a somewhat more cost effective solution. Line the inside of all the airplanes with a two inch thick plate of steel. Give all the passengers a baseball bat on each flight. A proper Louisville Slugger painted orange for visibility. You think any terrorist wants to be trapped inside a metal tube at high altitude with a bunch of panicked and desperate passengers carrying blunt objects? Going out in a crash is one thing, being bludgeoned to death in a cramped space is quite another. Sure there will be some unfortunate incidents not related to terrorism once in a while but that's just par for the course. Security is paramount. We sure do put an inordinate amount of time and effort into inane nonsense. Not me though. Only important subjects cross my mind. I'm a modern day renaissance man. Off-brand and suspiciously out of sync. The North Korean cartoon propaganda version of a comedy legend.

The Sociopath In All of Us.

Reading an article like this makes me uneasy. It also makes me ponder what exactly a sociopath is. Does it just constrain to this mold we have been hearing (and some of us reading) about? A person who lacks any and all sense of empathy for others. Seems like a pretty extreme example of alienation from humanity to me. What if they are not all on the fringe? They would be undetectable. Like a fart in a paper mill.

I cannot possibly be the only one who feels the harsh and pungent (get it?) sting of selfishness from other people on a regular basis. I'll construct a little example: Say someone dumps you without a hint of compassion, they just feel sorry for themselves, for this tinge of guilt which they cannot quite explain. Is that sociopathic behaviour? Emotions are not chosen according to the situation as if they were a hat.

See also; ignoring someone in need See also; cheating See also; theft

Another characteristic of a psychopath is the constant search for personal gratification. A point seldom raised. Perhaps because it comes dangerously close to home for many of us "normal" folk. Surely our enjoyment of random sexual encounters, binge drinking, feeling superior, and aggregation of money and things for their own sake has no connection to the violent tendencies of a deranged loon? Maybe the serial killer/rapist is just more goal oriented than most. If narcissism was an extreme sport Ted Bundy would be its Tony Hawk. In place of grinding the paint off a half-pipe he's grinding on someone's windpipe with an ashtray. We may not all be champions but many of us have owned a skateboard.

If you found the imagery disturbing there might just be some hope for you yet. My apologies.

A Grande Gesture, please.

Take a gander at this ad from Starbucks. I think it's just swell! [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkC5qYH0ln0] So you're telling me that 5 cents from every espresso-latte-truffle-mocha-thingy is going towards some sort of charitable AIDS-related action? Holy jumpin' coffee bean Batman, that's like 2% of every order! Rather than acting like human beings the people at Starbucks, like every other corporation it would seem, manage to morph charity into commerce. Brilliant. Instead of just buying more of the produce (which the company's very existence depends upon) at reasonable and fair prices, they're going to perform a public relations stunt. Another alternative would be to just give AIDS foundations in Africa a lump sum of money, but would that get the same amount of media exposure? I would applaud their impressive dedication to callousness if only my hands weren't angrily clutching and shaking my keyboard. Underpaying poor farmers in the third world. Overcharging the working class in the first. No java in either world is as dark as their souls.

Inspiration.

Not my best work...

There are times when I run out of good ideas. Periods when nothing I can think of is up to snuff. Everything seems like half-baked drivel that isn't going anywhere. Certainly not towards that convergence of excellence. When enough good concepts come together naturally and make an incredible leap towards cogitation. The beauty of a carefully considered thought is what keeps me going. Or rather, the hunger for a return of that beauty. The key is not to give up. Not to pack it in until a new idea comes fluttering into your consciousness. Quality has its own agenda and time table. I run out of ideas every single day, and every time it's just as scary. I fear that I won't be able to return to my previous peak. I threat that I have used up the last good idea that will ever come to me. Worst of all that I've done so while cracking wise at some pointless seminar or meeting. Does this activity deserve my best? Good ideas should be, no must be executed. Convincing yourself that "I will get around to it when I have the right assets and can do it justice." is a bad habit. One I have engaged in on far too many an occasion. Over-analyzing and dissecting every minute little detail before setting about creating will get you nowhere fast. Those ideas and concepts do not stay around in your mind as an insurance plan, a resource you can pull out when times are tough. It eventually dawns on me that these perfect ideas I have in my head will never be as flawlessly performed in reality. You're bound to fail the first time you do anything. However, a good idea carried out poorly still trumps a brilliant idea never realized. What triggers me to create I do not know. But a certain person's ephemeral smile seems to be doing the trick lately. What is your source of inspiration?

An Ode to Odious Drinking.

Having fun with a rhyme for rum. Less and less glum. If only whisky would have told me, vodka is the only thing that can hold me. Sipping, drinking, chugging, heaving, burping, downing, gulping, pouring, puking, restarting. A cheer for more beer - hooray! That burning liquid hits your stomach with a splash. Squish squish, the start of a rash. It nestles up next to that half-eaten kebab. Pulling it close, pretty soon it'll come out your nose. Hugging the sides of your innards. Making room for wine. Don't worry about the double vision, you'll be fine. Stumbling about town, every stranger with a frown. Get out of my way lady! I'm looking for a clown. Good ideas when drunk, thunk with a handful of skunk. He's bound to be around here somewhere. Get out here, you son of a bitch! Hey, what's that itch? A billy club opening up a stitch. A crack, a rattle and a sound. Here comes the ground. Why is it called The Tank? It's not even partially filled with liquid.