Tag Archives: Rants

Epic Hatred

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Silky Johnson sends his best.

I was flipping through television channels the other day and I stumbled across shows entitled: Epic Pools; Epic Homes; Epic Vacations; and an infomercial bearing the name Twenty-nine Ways to Grow an Epic Garden. My head started to fizzle like Alka-Seltzer and I’m pretty sure the remote left my hand like a missile that targeted the TV.  Before I knew it, I found myself running across the room while intoning an epic rant. In mid sentence, I took an epic leap out an open window, which I later realized was manufactured by Epic Windows. Luckily for me, it was a first floor window and I ended up brushing myself off and looking around to see if anybody witnessed my epic moment of insanity. I’m sure by now you’ve figured out what set me off. Each usage sounds like a mix of ten thousand lap dogs yapping in the purses of  Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton, who are both PMSing and  trying to screech over each other while Techno music is pulsing at ear shattering decibels. Every time I hear the word I’m tempted to stick a ball-gag into the offender’s mouth and give them the honor of being the first victim of my Epic Inquisition.

Thinking I couldn’t be the only one who curls up into a little ball of miserable human flesh every time I hear the insanely overused adjective, I inquired with the high authority of modern word usage, Urban Dictionary.com and was delighted in what I found. Taken verbatim from their hallowed tome:

Epic Inquisition Launched!
Epic Inquisition Launched!

Epic:  “A word, whose meaningful definition(s)and correct applications are now obscured and have been raped to death mostly by the 25 and under crowd. It has been overused as ‘the’ catch phrase used to describe a situation, person, event, movie, taking a shit, etc. The abuse and birth as a catchphrase has its origins among avid gamers and pretentious English majors. There are too many ‘epic’ examples to count, just go walk onto a college campus and listen closely.”

My favorite Epic.
My favorite Epic.

Ah, at last, I have someone to blame for my Epic Headache. To be honest, I felt guilty blaming the word, it was like blaming the victim of a crime. After all, it’s a pleasant little word meant to describe a Tolstoy novel or a Charlton Heston movie, it wasn’t designed to make a human being bristle like a preacher in a whorehouse. It was minding its own business with no intention of replacing any other four letter words until the light bulb clicked on in some languagesta’s head.

Now that I have a target for my outrage, unimaginative linguistic bandwagon jumpers take note: Keep on naming your companies Epic This or Epic That; keep on saying that every ballgame is its own epic saga. For crying out loud, the word has jumped the shark. It’s over, like your careers should be. Authors, Writers or Reviewers who abuse the word, realize you’re trying to catch a train that has already left the station, you’d earn more respect from me if you were a Wal-Mart greeter. Finally, people in my life who insist on abusing the sweet little four letter word

I will neither confirm or deny that this was my TV.
I will neither confirm or deny that this was my TV.

be warned that every time you say or type it, know that I’m thinking you’re the equivalent of the fat, pimple faced kid who sharted in gym class and is clenching to keep the rest of us from seeing the evidence.  Before you get that wild grin and start sharpening your fingernails in preparation of running that four-letter bomb down the proverbial chalk board, allow me invoke the words of word-class hater Silky Johnson, aka. Dave Chappelle, “I hope that all the bad things in life happen to you and nobody else but you.”

Now that I got that off my chest, does anybody know where I can get a cheap flat screen?

100 Days… More or Less

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Lately I’ve been pondering life’s imponderables, and recently found myself paying heed to an activity which the average person spends approximately one hundred to one hundred sixty odd days of their life engaged, and quite involuntarily as a matter-of-fact, there’s no choice in the matter. That’s more than enough time to slog through War and Peace or Marcel Proust’s ‘In Search in of  Lost Time’ or if you’re adventurous, maybe both. Hell, if you’re a warrior maybe you could throw in James Joyce, because in my opinion, Finnegans Wake is the cure for constipation. That’s right sports fans, while driving the other day I found myself doing the math and figuring out how long the average person spends answering the call of nature, and I’m talking about the Number Two Son.

You’re probably asking why would anyone be inclined to think of such subjects. My answer is that engineering firms are paid $Billions to make sure we don’t give poop a second

Me being a Turd in a Punch Bowl.
Me being a Turd in a Punch Bowl.

thought.  Not to mention that I don’t listen to a radio when I drive and that allows my mind to go into uncharted territory. Driving is my alone time, I often think of plots, characters, and events when I’m behind the wheel; it’s kind of like time travel, because when I get lost in thought the next thing I know I’m at my destination without remembering most of the drive. If you have ever driven past me, it explains my spaced out look. But I’m rambling, lets get back to the subject at hand.

So, how did I come up with such a number? I know there are theoretical physicists waiting with bated breath for my answer. Here is Zunstein’s theorem of Scatology:  A * BMY / H *HPA * ALS / 24 = DSP    I know it doesn’t look impressive to many of you, but for a mathematical retard such as myself this is a breakthrough accomplishment, especially considering I did it in my head and without the aid of a calculator. Long drives in the mountains certainly produce miracles. Heck, one drive produced the word Karmamyalgia – whose meaning will be explained in my upcoming work Montana Rural.

Shit Happens!
Are you a poser?

Here’s the formulaic primer:

A = Average Time Spent on Hopper.  For the sake of argument and simplicity, I will use five (5) minutes a session as a baseline.

BMY = Bowel Movements per Year.  Again a major variable, but, I have to start somewhere, so I chose four hundred (400).  It allows for both good and bad days and those in between.

H = sixty (60), for minutes to hours conversion.

HPA = Hours Per Annum spend pondering on throne.

ALS = Average Life Span. Another Variable, for this example I’m using 80 years.

Twenty-four (24) = A number between Twenty-three (23)  and  Twenty-five (25), used for the number of hours in a day.

DSP = The magic number: Days spent pooping.

Placing these assumptions into the formula, I will walk you through the process and allow you to see how much time you’re devoting to literature, posing like a Greek statue,  and/or other pursuits of pondering.5 * 400 = 2000    2000 minutes a year doing the act.   Divide 2000 by 60 to determine the hours a year you’re spending to keep air-freshener companies in business.  By my math the answer is 33.33 hours.

33.3 hours multiplied by 80 =2664 hours in a life time.  That a year’s worth of full-time labor plus a healthy dose of overtime.   Divide that total by twenty-four to convert hours into days.   Again by my math, and for this example, the person in question spent one hundred ten (110) days on the hopper. I know people who haven’t taken 110 days vacation in their life. I’ve also known people who haven’t worked that many days. If you’re looking to catch up on your reading and want or dive into the classics, just add two minutes a session and by ZTS (Zunstein’s Theorem of Scatology) you can increase your DSP to one hundred fifty-five.

The image I saw in my bathroom floor's linoleum.
The image I saw in my bathroom floor’s linoleum.

Don’t feel that time spent is limited to reading. Other skills are waiting to be developed. Just last month I improved my observational skills by noticing a face in the linoleum floor at the foot of my throne. (I really didn’t see Hitler in bunny ears, but as of this writing I misplaced my camera and the pictures of the coy phantasm.) When I told my wife this, she suggested that I see a psychiatrist. I almost took her up on the offer, but not for the reason you may think,  it was more of the creep out factor from not noticing a face staring at me for the better part of ten years. She still claims not to see it. I think she’s in denial. She says that a creative mind lingers on a precipice. I just shrug my shoulders; she’s taught me that arguments such as these are unwinnable.

By cutting just one minute a session, you could make time for an African Safari!
By cutting just one minute a session, you could make time for an African Safari!

On the other hand, if you’re stressed out and don’t think there’s enough time to do your honey-do list or whatever chore that is torturing your thoughts, just cut a minute from your bathroom time and add twenty-two days to your life. Just think of the possibilities! You could go to Hawaii, explore Alaska, or go on an African Safari just by eliminating one minute of elimination time. The world is your oyster, just be careful shucking.