Apparently, I’m not the only one who had this happen to them.  Check out Michael Lacher’s “The Only Thing That Can Stop This Asteroid is Your Liberal Arts Degree” over at McSweeney’s. It’s magically hilarious.

I know.  I know.  I’ve been especially lazy in terms of posting on here as of late, but for good reason.  A few other things I’ve written may soon end up being published.

But just online.  So settle down.

In the meantime, please check out this link to Michael Lacher’s painfully hilarious “A Message of Apology From the Commander of Undersea EnviroDome 25-B” over at McSweeney’s.  Well worth the read.

Gentle Readers,

You’ve longed for sound paleoanthropological humor. 

Your pleading pleas had gone unheard.

Or, so you thought.

I heard them.

I ignored them for a while.

And then, I responded.

Please enjoy And Now a Few Minutes With Andy Rooney’s Homo Erectus Ancestor over at The Morning News.

Paleoanthropologically,

Merry Andrew

A classic from the archives at McSweeney’s.  You can thank me, post-coitally, on Monday.

 R,

Merry Andrew

TWO PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AND 15
BRAND-NEW CLOSING SIGNATURES, TO BE
INSERTED AT THE END OF YOUR LOVE LETTERS
FOR VALENTINE’S OR ANY OTHER DAY.

BY MIKE SACKS

- – - -

X = A kiss.

O = A hug.

R = A saucy lick.

T = A meaningful pat on your high, yummy ass, not too hard, not too soft, now you try it on me, perfect, that’ll do just fine.

I = Remember that day at the park? That day when we walked hand-in-hand alongside the reflecting pool and then strolled, ever so casually, over to the cocker spaniel with the very bad breath and that vague, faraway stare that reminded me of the rabid dog I once saw beneath the arts-and-crafts cabin at summer camp? I’m recalling that memory as I write this. You should be, too.

W = A delicious ear nibble, making sure not to draw blood this time. Sorry about the last time.

G = Nude calisthenics, preferably before a very large mirror and with appropriate lighting.

S = A shake of the head, a puzzled frown, a slight gasp. Is that a new haircut? I like it. May I ask you a funny question? This is just in the planning stages, not completely worked out, but I’m thinking about leaning you over my strong, compliant lap and spanking the fire out of you. What’s that? Don’t feel like it? Then be a sweetheart and hand me the new Kissinger bio … Can’t you reach it?

H = I would very much like to fix you a bath of sparkling champagne. If that’s too expensive, then something much cheaper. Wine spritzer, perhaps.

V = Both of us in bed, side by side, watching American Idol with our tops off. I’m holding the clicker.

J = A linking together of our arms, a counterclockwise gambol, do-si-do and away we go, a change of direction on the second lap … This time to the accompaniment of actual music and not with me blowing trumpet noises through my tightly clenched fist … Work with me here, c’mon, I can’t do this alone …

Z = The back of my hand pressed soothingly against your forehead. It seems that your fever has finally subsided. I shall now slowly close the bedroom door and allow you to slip into a deep and relaxing sleep, and we shall talk tomorrow about your screams concerning the carnival roustabouts in your last fevered dream. Just let me write down the word “syphilitic,” as I’ll most surely forget it before we talk again … Done.

C = An exciting, powerful high-five, similar to the maneuver we once saw performed at the local sports bar, minus the spilling of onion rings onto our laps.

N = A shrug and a confused look. The bedroom aids? The ones with my initials on them. Still at the dry cleaners?

B = A lingering caress, a removal of your shoes, my shoes, an unzipping of your pants, an unzipping of my pants, an unbuttoning of your shirt, an unbuttoning of mine, your underwear, socks, bra, my socks, underwear, a jump into the outdoor whirlpool, a request to the voyeur across the yard to aim his telescope at somebody else, a caress, another request to the neighborhood freak, the middle finger, a halfhearted attempt on my part to jump out of the whirlpool and into his yard, the sudden turning off of the lights in his basement den, me jumping back into the whirlpool, an embrace, a loud crash emanating from his upstairs bedroom, a shadow in the form of this prick and his telescope, an exasperated rolling of our eyes, a shouted promise to have him beat up by that other neighborhood freak, that fellow with very little intelligence and yet, please note, a young man with a very admirable penchant for remaining frighteningly loyal to those who buy him hot-fudge sundaes at Friendly’s.

L = Oh, don’t look at me like that, please don’t look at me like that. (Pause.) All right, milady, I’ll clean out the frog cage. Then may we lie in each other’s arms?

F = And this one, let us not forget this one, for this one means that I love you … I always have and I always will … In this lifetime and in the next … You are my everything, let us never be apart … By the way, that Kissinger bio that I was asking you about? Pass it over already, I’m still waiting … There we go, baby … Nice.

I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do. 

Watch dinosaurs do it. 

And by it, I mean the sex.

Now, thanks to Discovery Channel, the cable-watching public will be able to witness their favorite terrible lizards doing the nasty.  Better yet, there’s none of the shame associated with porn.  Why?  Because it’s science!

I wonder what kind of pipage a brachiosaurus is packing?  And what color?  And what shape?

Why do I wonder these things?  Because I’m a scientist.

Read the press release here.

Dinosaur. Ballet. Dinosaur Ballet.

Click it. And be awed.

Dinosaur Ballet

For the consistently hilarious write-up by the genius at Geekologie that accompanied this video, click here.

Oh, and…you’re welcome.

A brilliant piece from McSweeney’s that examines the trials and tribulations of the twelve days of X-mas.  Enjoy.

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS.

BY COLIN NISSAN

- – - -

Day 1

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree. Such a thoughtful gift, she knows how much I love fruit. She also knows my building’s pretty strict about pets so the bird threw me a little. But he is a cute little guy.

- – - -

Day 2

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves. Wow, she’s really into the avian theme this year. Um, thank you? I guess I’ll just put them in the kitchen with the partridge and the pear tree, which suddenly seems a lot bigger than it did yesterday.

- – - -

Days 3 & 4

On the third and fourth days of Christmas, she gave me three French hens and four calling birds. Funny, I don’t remember telling her my dream was to one day open a chapter of the Audubon Society. Jesus. You know what would have been nice? Some birdseed. I’m out of saltines and things are starting to get weird in here.

- – - -

Day 5

On the fifth day of Christmas, she gave me five golden rings. See, now that’s a nice gift. A nice, practical gift. A little on the feminine side, but I’ll take it.

- – - -

Day 6

Six geese a-laying. Hmm, that’s so weird because I was just telling someone that I could use some MORE FUCKING BIRDS. Do you have any idea how much shit six geese generate in a single day? Literally, pounds. Pounds of green, grassy turds. And in case you’re curious, all six of them have been a-laying since they got here. There are no less than seventy-five enormous eggs in my apartment right now. And as a side note, I just tried to make an omelet out of one of them and almost ralphed. Very gamy.

- – - -

Day 7

Guess what I signed for this morning when the UPS guy rang my doorbell? Seven swans a-swimming. True story. So… no more baths for me, I guess. Thanks for that. These are terrible gifts! Terrible, confusing gifts. Do you know how big a fucking swan is? Or how mean those bastards are? Oh, and guess who swans don’t get along with? Geese, turtle doves, French hens, calling birds, and partridges. Glad you did your homework there. There’s more bird-on-bird violence going on right now than I care to mention.

- – - -

Day 8

I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt on this one in case you ordered these eight maids a-milking online and there was some confusion, but just to clarify, there are eight middle-aged women wearing bonnets in my apartment right now. And they each brought a cow. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? They’re all here, in my STUDIO apartment, and judging by the size of their suitcases, they aren’t leaving anytime soon.

- – - -

Day 9

Big day today. Not only did I receive the unexpected gift of nine ladies dancing, I also got a nice little note from my landlord. He covered all kinds of stuff, but in a nutshell it was about excessive dancing, illegal livestock, unnatural amounts of bird feces, and me not living here anymore. Big day.

- – - -

Day 10

Ten lords a-fucking-leaping! Yes they are. Ten leotarded assholes are literally jumping around my apartment screaming “Wheeeeee!” every time their feet leave the goddamned ground! WHY?? Why are you doing this to me? You’re sick! I loved you so much and you destroyed it. You destroyed everything. Tensions in here are escalating faster than I could have imagined. The maids and dancers appear to have laid territorial claims in opposite corners of the apartment. They are not the same civilized ladies who arrived here a short time ago. They bear a darkness now. One of them stole my golden rings and I know just the one who did it. I’m waiting until nightfall and I will reclaim them through any means necessary. I’m beginning to fear something isn’t right with the birds, they’re watching me… conspiring… it’s just a matter of time.

- – - -

Days 11 & 12

These final days have come and gone in a bewildering fog. I remember drummers. Pipers. Lots of them. I haven’t slept or washed my body in quite some time. Food is scarce… the fighting, fierce. I killed a lord today! Snatched him right out of the air and killed him with my bare hands. Now he doesn’t leap anymore. I used his leotard as a net to trap one of the swans. She was delicious. Didn’t even cook the old gal. Ha! I made everyone gather around and watch—that’s what you do when you want to send a message. A very important message! This is my castle! Do you all hear me? Do you see what I’ve done? What I am capable of!! No more eye contact with the king, do you understand? Or I will end you! I will end you all right here and now!! Now one of you fetch me a goddamned pear. The king needs something sweet.

- – - -

Is there anything better than a child’s letter to God?

Yes.  A funny one.

Hit the link for more: Funny Dear God Notes

Normally, I like to avoid publishing other people’s work here, but I couldn’t help but showcase a brilliant pirate-based list found over at McSweeneys written by Christopher Robinson.

Enjoy:

Captain Blackbeard’s College of Piracy
— Ye Olde Course Catalogue, Spring ‘10.

BY CHRISTOPHER ROBINSON

- – - -

ECON 212: Fluctuations in the Buillon market

ENGL 442: Post-structuralist Decay and the Hermeneutics of Land-lubbing

ENGL 515: Lawless Scallywags and Counter-hegemonic Narratives

LING 224: Sign and signifier: Chomsky on Arrrrr

LING 310: Semiotics of the Jolly Roger

MATH 348: Game Theory and the Albatross

MED 458: Extemporaneous Prosthetics: Pegs and Hooks

PHIL 360: Epistemology of Davy Jones Locker

PHIL 390: Dancing the Hempen Jig: The Ethics of Capital Punishment

PHYS 220: Directional Combustion and Projectile Motion

PLSC 216: Filthy Bilge Rats: the Aleatory Class System on the High Seas

REL 336: Yam Gods of the Barbary Coast

SOC 212: All Hands on Deck: a Marxist Approach to Piracy and Leadership

SOC 469: Captain Jack and Captain Jim: Heteronormativity and the Modern Pirate

SOC 740: A Post-feminist Approach to the Mayor’s Daughter

Click here for the direct link and to read other great McSweeneys lists.

In perhaps the only good decision George Lucas has made since 1989, permission was granted to create the most brilliant fusion of nostalgia and consumerism our planet has ever witnessed.

I present to you…the Tauntaun Sleeping Bag.

It even has a lightsaber zipper!  You can save poor, frozen, Wampa-abused Luke again and again.  And then fall asleep and do it again in your dreams!  All inside the warm, fuzzy confines of dead Tauntaun guts. 

The only drawback (besides the steep price tag, that is): it only sleeps one.  Of course, the very purchase of said item nearly assures that space for one is all that will ever be needed.  By which I mean, the guy who buys this is likely to be swinging his own lightsaber long after the Ewoks come home.

Still, 100% pure awesome.  Hell, I’m even starting to consider self-imposed celibacy and shell out the hundred bucks for one.  Then, I remember Episode I, II, III, Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and I come to my infuriated senses.

Hit the link for more photos.