10.12.07
The True Source
So, life imitates art. The "art" in question being those Gatorade ads where people sweat gatorade, of course. I wanted to add an "imitates life" to the end of that first sentence, but I don't think it really happened all that much before
Wisdom
Instead of whiny, pseudo-intellectual pretentions, today's post is a simple case of "See, I told you so" as justified by the ever accurate, apt and hilarious Dinosaur Comics.
In the matter of the first "See, I told you so," I present as evidence: Bread. And I would again remind you, dear reader(s, I think more than mum reads this) that the rollover is often hilarious and enlightening. The "rollover" - for you luddites - is when you hold your mouse over the image and a little text box pops up.
I encourage you to do it with that comic. Go on.
It is also important to note that this comic about one of my most favoritest of foods was published on my 22nd birthday.
And the second "See, i told you so," is about cephalopods. Again, the rollover is important.
Enjoy your newly discovered awe and admiration at my undeniable wisdom, charm and modesty.
The date of this publication means little to me.
Rock on, y'all.
In the matter of the first "See, I told you so," I present as evidence: Bread. And I would again remind you, dear reader(s, I think more than mum reads this) that the rollover is often hilarious and enlightening. The "rollover" - for you luddites - is when you hold your mouse over the image and a little text box pops up.
I encourage you to do it with that comic. Go on.
It is also important to note that this comic about one of my most favoritest of foods was published on my 22nd birthday.
And the second "See, i told you so," is about cephalopods. Again, the rollover is important.
Enjoy your newly discovered awe and admiration at my undeniable wisdom, charm and modesty.
The date of this publication means little to me.
Rock on, y'all.
5.12.07
I've been thinking
As lame as it is, philosphy is pretty neat.
I guess my big issue with it, though, is that it's mostly talk and little action. "Man's true nature is this," a philosopher might say and then proceed to not really do much about it. Publishing a book is all well and good, but who knows how permanent literacy is? Well, I'd say it's fairly permanent at this point, but how all-encompassing will it be? Mass literacy is relatively recent - we could probably celebrate it's sesquicentenial nowish - and even then it's only in the "first world."
It's a handy method for disseminating ideas, I guess. But will it always be around? Does that relegate philosophical discussion to the realm of the philosphers? Could it be argued, I wonder, that people like Marx, Chomsky or those guys who made those Utopian Societies here in the states (Oneida, Brook Farm etc.) are philosphers? They're dealing with fundamentals about human life and the way it should be.
I don't know.
I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say.
Although, I've been giving it some thought and I've decided that most governments are too big. Trying to deal with too many people and too many issues inside their borders. It grants too much power to too many people who are, ultimately, fallible. We haven't had a government yet that actually allows for easy changes in the status quo. The rich stay rich, the poor stay poor. And while I'm not sure I completely agree with the idea that a government is just a classed up mob that taxes instead of demanding protection money, I'm not sure I completely disagree with it, either.
Anarchosocialism. It's sounding like a better and better idea to me. Of course, it's not without it's own issues, but I really think that any system that tries to control more than one family is going to lead to oppression, suppression, suffering and poverty which may not be completely just and fair.
Well, I've been letting that foment in my noggin for a while. I think it still needs more BUT so far I'm with it.
I guess my big issue with it, though, is that it's mostly talk and little action. "Man's true nature is this," a philosopher might say and then proceed to not really do much about it. Publishing a book is all well and good, but who knows how permanent literacy is? Well, I'd say it's fairly permanent at this point, but how all-encompassing will it be? Mass literacy is relatively recent - we could probably celebrate it's sesquicentenial nowish - and even then it's only in the "first world."
It's a handy method for disseminating ideas, I guess. But will it always be around? Does that relegate philosophical discussion to the realm of the philosphers? Could it be argued, I wonder, that people like Marx, Chomsky or those guys who made those Utopian Societies here in the states (Oneida, Brook Farm etc.) are philosphers? They're dealing with fundamentals about human life and the way it should be.
I don't know.
I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say.
Although, I've been giving it some thought and I've decided that most governments are too big. Trying to deal with too many people and too many issues inside their borders. It grants too much power to too many people who are, ultimately, fallible. We haven't had a government yet that actually allows for easy changes in the status quo. The rich stay rich, the poor stay poor. And while I'm not sure I completely agree with the idea that a government is just a classed up mob that taxes instead of demanding protection money, I'm not sure I completely disagree with it, either.
Anarchosocialism. It's sounding like a better and better idea to me. Of course, it's not without it's own issues, but I really think that any system that tries to control more than one family is going to lead to oppression, suppression, suffering and poverty which may not be completely just and fair.
Well, I've been letting that foment in my noggin for a while. I think it still needs more BUT so far I'm with it.
29.11.07
Twenty Four
I'm twenty four.
It never fails. Birthdays come and go and I never really feel any older.
I guess I should start investing for my retirement. Kinda weird to think about. My first investment - the... uh... the lottery tickets I bought last night - sort of failed miserably. I figured it was a lottery draw day AND my birthday, it must be some sure sign.
Nope.
There are probably a lot of things I should be doing. I think, however, that anarchy is looking mighty fine right now. I'll just ride this wave out and see what happens, I guess.
Hmm, that sounds more fatalistic or nihilist than I really want. I'm totally working on stuff, drawing and stories and idea fermentation (speaking of which, Grungy Noir's been updated). It's good times. And it's not like I'm not enjoying life, because I certainly am.
What percentage of people live for their hobbies? How many people work at jobs they can tolerate so they can afford to go home and bake or garden or make pottery or sew or draw or write? How many people achieve a worthwhile satisfaction doing that?
I imagine it's quite a few. It seems to me that since forever, even before governments and jobs and corporations etc. (yeah, I know, good list) people did what they had to most of the time and really delighted in the times when they didn't have to gather wood, hunt animals or build houses for the community. Or something.
It's weird that we've developed this overinflated sense of enjoyment for fun activities after a hard day of work. Actually, it's not that weird. The people who did what they had to and then had fun were way more likely to survive and make little babies with similar states of mind than the lazy and self-indulgent.
Anyway, it all makes me think of a rather fitting, profound Futurama quote.
Is any of this getting through to you?
It never fails. Birthdays come and go and I never really feel any older.
I guess I should start investing for my retirement. Kinda weird to think about. My first investment - the... uh... the lottery tickets I bought last night - sort of failed miserably. I figured it was a lottery draw day AND my birthday, it must be some sure sign.
Nope.
There are probably a lot of things I should be doing. I think, however, that anarchy is looking mighty fine right now. I'll just ride this wave out and see what happens, I guess.
Hmm, that sounds more fatalistic or nihilist than I really want. I'm totally working on stuff, drawing and stories and idea fermentation (speaking of which, Grungy Noir's been updated). It's good times. And it's not like I'm not enjoying life, because I certainly am.
What percentage of people live for their hobbies? How many people work at jobs they can tolerate so they can afford to go home and bake or garden or make pottery or sew or draw or write? How many people achieve a worthwhile satisfaction doing that?
I imagine it's quite a few. It seems to me that since forever, even before governments and jobs and corporations etc. (yeah, I know, good list) people did what they had to most of the time and really delighted in the times when they didn't have to gather wood, hunt animals or build houses for the community. Or something.
It's weird that we've developed this overinflated sense of enjoyment for fun activities after a hard day of work. Actually, it's not that weird. The people who did what they had to and then had fun were way more likely to survive and make little babies with similar states of mind than the lazy and self-indulgent.
Anyway, it all makes me think of a rather fitting, profound Futurama quote.
"Its just like the story of the grasshopper and the octopus. All year long the grasshopper kept burying acorns for winter while the octopus mooched off his girlfriend and watched TV. Then the winter came, and the grasshopper died, and the octopus ate all his acorns and also he got a racecar. Is any of this getting through to you?"
Is any of this getting through to you?
26.11.07
Abuelissima
I've been thinking a lot about it and I've decided it's true, Grammy Jo is pretty damn cool.
She doesn't skateboard or listen to hip, young music. She doesn't skydive and I can't imagine her wrestling alligators. But for such a tiny woman she has a massive heart. It's gotta be three or four times the normal sized heart, which you'd think would provoke serious medical problems. In her, though, there just seems to be a preponderance of love. It's staggering, really.
She has seven children, siblings, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. So just in the family she has 30 or so people she loves. Then there are the myriad friends she's made in her long and hearty life. I believe she loves them all, too. And the dogs! And cats. And now even a bird.
If you need proof that she's been loving to all these people, try remembering all the names at one of her birthday parties. They regularly get bigger attendance than my college graduating class. People coming and going throughout the day, camping out in tents. Traveling from foreign countries, even. Although in all fairness, that's usually her firstborn and company.
All for one little woman. She's tiny. I'm not sure she's five feet tall but she's ridiculously dense with love.
Here are two examples:
In WWII when my Grandfather went off to join the army, she followed him. Wherever he may have been stationed, she worked for the troops. When she first started she was on sandwich duty. It was war time and the country was still pretty desperately poor from the Great Depression, so you can imagine there were pretty heavy rations. My grandmother ignored them all. These were hungry boys! So, she fed them what she felt they needed.
Of course she was caught. So she was pushed down to coffee duty. Where she was only too happy to hand out extra rations of sugar and cream.
Then they put her at the candy shack. Apparently you could only buy candy bars two at a time for a nickel a piece. Of course, when a young soldier came up and said that he and his boys were going out for a tough mission or whatever it is army boys do, and they were going to be desperately hard up for sweets.
Accordingly, she sold them several crates, ringing them up ten cents at a time.
Of course, when the powers-that-be found out about that, they busted her down to water duty.
When she was working in the cafeteria, she always had the cleanest dishes. The dishwasher was, apparently, some sort of booze hound. It was common knowledge and not a lot of people treated him with much respect. But of course my grandmother was nice to him and of course her dishes were the cleanest.
Here's another example. This one transcends humanity.
My grandmother had a horrible car accident a couple years ago. She crashed into a tree and was pretty close to dying for a long time. Way longer than any of the family (and friends) really wants to think about.
This wreck, this catastrophe, happened right around the corner from the house and her dogs were in the car. The running theory is she was distracted by the dogs (which were all fine) and lost the road for a second.
But the reason she was even on the road was that the dogs were all barking at a toad. She packed up the dogs into the car to protect the toad. My grandmother cares so much for an amphibian, I can only imagine what's going on in her heart for her family.
Anyway, it's a lovely sentiment and I love my grandmother very much. I can't imagine a person who couldn't.
She doesn't skateboard or listen to hip, young music. She doesn't skydive and I can't imagine her wrestling alligators. But for such a tiny woman she has a massive heart. It's gotta be three or four times the normal sized heart, which you'd think would provoke serious medical problems. In her, though, there just seems to be a preponderance of love. It's staggering, really.
She has seven children, siblings, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. So just in the family she has 30 or so people she loves. Then there are the myriad friends she's made in her long and hearty life. I believe she loves them all, too. And the dogs! And cats. And now even a bird.
If you need proof that she's been loving to all these people, try remembering all the names at one of her birthday parties. They regularly get bigger attendance than my college graduating class. People coming and going throughout the day, camping out in tents. Traveling from foreign countries, even. Although in all fairness, that's usually her firstborn and company.
All for one little woman. She's tiny. I'm not sure she's five feet tall but she's ridiculously dense with love.
Here are two examples:
In WWII when my Grandfather went off to join the army, she followed him. Wherever he may have been stationed, she worked for the troops. When she first started she was on sandwich duty. It was war time and the country was still pretty desperately poor from the Great Depression, so you can imagine there were pretty heavy rations. My grandmother ignored them all. These were hungry boys! So, she fed them what she felt they needed.
Of course she was caught. So she was pushed down to coffee duty. Where she was only too happy to hand out extra rations of sugar and cream.
Then they put her at the candy shack. Apparently you could only buy candy bars two at a time for a nickel a piece. Of course, when a young soldier came up and said that he and his boys were going out for a tough mission or whatever it is army boys do, and they were going to be desperately hard up for sweets.
Accordingly, she sold them several crates, ringing them up ten cents at a time.
Of course, when the powers-that-be found out about that, they busted her down to water duty.
When she was working in the cafeteria, she always had the cleanest dishes. The dishwasher was, apparently, some sort of booze hound. It was common knowledge and not a lot of people treated him with much respect. But of course my grandmother was nice to him and of course her dishes were the cleanest.
Here's another example. This one transcends humanity.
My grandmother had a horrible car accident a couple years ago. She crashed into a tree and was pretty close to dying for a long time. Way longer than any of the family (and friends) really wants to think about.
This wreck, this catastrophe, happened right around the corner from the house and her dogs were in the car. The running theory is she was distracted by the dogs (which were all fine) and lost the road for a second.
But the reason she was even on the road was that the dogs were all barking at a toad. She packed up the dogs into the car to protect the toad. My grandmother cares so much for an amphibian, I can only imagine what's going on in her heart for her family.
Anyway, it's a lovely sentiment and I love my grandmother very much. I can't imagine a person who couldn't.
22.11.07
Thanksgiving 2K7
Y'ever write the date and realize it's the future? That just happened to me.
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all! Time to take stock in life and realize a whole buncha stuff. Like New Years but with a focus on Cooked Turkey instead of Wild Turkey (I'm so clever).
So, I'm sitting here in my little editing cubicle at the age of 23, 24 in less than a week. I work 4 AM to 12:30 PM at a job that I like well enough (but don't love). I'm pretty happy with my living situation. I like my roommates and the city quite a bit. I'm thankful for that. I've got a family that loves me and vice versa, I'm thankful for that.
An example of love (maybe?): My car had a pretty catastrophic and spectacular breakdown yesterday. The starter has been giving me grief for a while and I've been avoiding getting work done on it because a)I'm poor and b)it always would start eventually. On my drive home yesterday, I started to realize that my car was sounding and smelling awfully funny. Wicked funny, even. As I pulled up to my parking spot on Neal St. and turned off the car to have a little peek-a-loo at the engine (mostly to see that it's there, for all my mechanical skill)I realized I'd have a slight problem.
The car wouldn't turn off.
It's a sort of weird feeling. My keys were out of the ignition, sitting in my pocket, and the beast was still trying to turn over. There's a story of a pirate ship captured by British forces. The pirate crew was in a line shoulder-to-shoulder along the deck, guns trained on them to properly illustrate the gravity of the situation. The Pirate Captain was bound and dragged to one end of the line where the Brits offered this ultimatum: "As the Captain, your life is forfeit. You will be decapitated. But you have it in your power to save your men. Every man you walk past after being decapitated will be spared."
Clearly that wasn't verbatim. I imagine there'd've been a forsooth or two in there.
So, the pirate steels his reserve. The sword swings, the head falls. The headless body burbles and sputters past his entire crew of 20-odd pirates before succumbing to Gravity or God or Blood Loss or whatever.
All right, so it's only vaguely related to my car. But I feel like it's a good story. Any excuse for a good story, right?
Anyway, I call Dad. Dad says, "Pull the plug on the battery, but get some gloves first." I had contemplated doing such earlier, but really didn't feel like getting shocked. He assured me there was no danger of such a thing, told me to grab some gloves. When I opened the hood, smoke billowed out and by the time I had donned my knitted fingerwear, the starter had exhausted itself in a futile effort to keep a car moving that wouldn't be saved. It was an impressive show and I would've liked to have seen it a whole lot more had it not been happening to me.
I call tow companies and repair shops and arrange to have it investigated. Hopefully an update Friday will say: I've got my car back and someone left several gold bars and a stripper machine in the back.
But I doubt it.
Anyway, back to how this is an example of my family loving me:
Normally Thanksgiving is held at my grandmother's Fortified Compound and Llama Emporium in Lee, NH. But because I'm working until 12:30 Mum convinced the whole gaggle of relatives to swing down to Sebago and thus ease my travel and exhaustion. Of course, I thought that was a swell idea because driving to Sebago after work ain't no thang.
Ain't no thang if you've got a car. But now that the dang thing's busted, Mum's driving out to Portland to pick me up and driving me home, then running me back out to Portland so I can work again on Friday.
So. I'm thankful for my family. It's pretty cool.
Also, friends! I like you guys. Continue to be my friends, it's OK. I'm thankful for y'all, too. Well-wishers, I'm glad you're around but c'mon, dudes, open up! Become friends! It's neat. It's like a special club of love, except with less sex, than the phrase "Club of Love" might lend itself to.
Also, I think a Club of Love would be a pretty cool smashing device. Smashing warmth into hearts, that is. Or band name. Or maybe an album name for a band.
All right, this thing's dragging on. I'm thankful for a lot of cool things! If you're one of those cool things, please know you're thanked.
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all! Time to take stock in life and realize a whole buncha stuff. Like New Years but with a focus on Cooked Turkey instead of Wild Turkey (I'm so clever).
So, I'm sitting here in my little editing cubicle at the age of 23, 24 in less than a week. I work 4 AM to 12:30 PM at a job that I like well enough (but don't love). I'm pretty happy with my living situation. I like my roommates and the city quite a bit. I'm thankful for that. I've got a family that loves me and vice versa, I'm thankful for that.
An example of love (maybe?): My car had a pretty catastrophic and spectacular breakdown yesterday. The starter has been giving me grief for a while and I've been avoiding getting work done on it because a)I'm poor and b)it always would start eventually. On my drive home yesterday, I started to realize that my car was sounding and smelling awfully funny. Wicked funny, even. As I pulled up to my parking spot on Neal St. and turned off the car to have a little peek-a-loo at the engine (mostly to see that it's there, for all my mechanical skill)I realized I'd have a slight problem.
The car wouldn't turn off.
It's a sort of weird feeling. My keys were out of the ignition, sitting in my pocket, and the beast was still trying to turn over. There's a story of a pirate ship captured by British forces. The pirate crew was in a line shoulder-to-shoulder along the deck, guns trained on them to properly illustrate the gravity of the situation. The Pirate Captain was bound and dragged to one end of the line where the Brits offered this ultimatum: "As the Captain, your life is forfeit. You will be decapitated. But you have it in your power to save your men. Every man you walk past after being decapitated will be spared."
Clearly that wasn't verbatim. I imagine there'd've been a forsooth or two in there.
So, the pirate steels his reserve. The sword swings, the head falls. The headless body burbles and sputters past his entire crew of 20-odd pirates before succumbing to Gravity or God or Blood Loss or whatever.
All right, so it's only vaguely related to my car. But I feel like it's a good story. Any excuse for a good story, right?
Anyway, I call Dad. Dad says, "Pull the plug on the battery, but get some gloves first." I had contemplated doing such earlier, but really didn't feel like getting shocked. He assured me there was no danger of such a thing, told me to grab some gloves. When I opened the hood, smoke billowed out and by the time I had donned my knitted fingerwear, the starter had exhausted itself in a futile effort to keep a car moving that wouldn't be saved. It was an impressive show and I would've liked to have seen it a whole lot more had it not been happening to me.
I call tow companies and repair shops and arrange to have it investigated. Hopefully an update Friday will say: I've got my car back and someone left several gold bars and a stripper machine in the back.
But I doubt it.
Anyway, back to how this is an example of my family loving me:
Normally Thanksgiving is held at my grandmother's Fortified Compound and Llama Emporium in Lee, NH. But because I'm working until 12:30 Mum convinced the whole gaggle of relatives to swing down to Sebago and thus ease my travel and exhaustion. Of course, I thought that was a swell idea because driving to Sebago after work ain't no thang.
Ain't no thang if you've got a car. But now that the dang thing's busted, Mum's driving out to Portland to pick me up and driving me home, then running me back out to Portland so I can work again on Friday.
So. I'm thankful for my family. It's pretty cool.
Also, friends! I like you guys. Continue to be my friends, it's OK. I'm thankful for y'all, too. Well-wishers, I'm glad you're around but c'mon, dudes, open up! Become friends! It's neat. It's like a special club of love, except with less sex, than the phrase "Club of Love" might lend itself to.
Also, I think a Club of Love would be a pretty cool smashing device. Smashing warmth into hearts, that is. Or band name. Or maybe an album name for a band.
All right, this thing's dragging on. I'm thankful for a lot of cool things! If you're one of those cool things, please know you're thanked.
2.11.07
Travel
I'll take back everything bad I've ever said about Homeland Security. You know, I went to Europe for a month and was bouncing around and on the ride back they didn't catch any of the paraphernalia I had on me. They missed the cork screw, the swiss army card, the bottle of contact solution, the moisturizers, shampoos and face washes I had readily visible in my carry-on.
My carry-on. It got X-Rayed.
Here I am flying to Rochester, NY from Portland, ME and I slip my toothpaste and swiss army card into the bag. The card, mind you, has a knife, a pair of scissors, a slim pen (for stabbing!) and a nail file (for additional stabbings). I walk through the metal detector and set it off with my gargantuan belt buckle and the bag goes through the X-Ray and as I'm finally cleared through the metal detector, the X-Ray guy looks at me and says, "This your bag?"
"Shit," I'm thinking, "I'm in trouble. They found the card and they know I'm a leftist. I'm fucked."
"Found this hidden on the side. Knew right where to look." He holds my toothpaste towards me. "Can't carry more than 3 ounces, you know, gonna have to confiscate it." He hands dumps it and hands me my bag.
"Oh," I say, acting glum, "I guess that's the price of freedom."
My carry-on. It got X-Rayed.
Here I am flying to Rochester, NY from Portland, ME and I slip my toothpaste and swiss army card into the bag. The card, mind you, has a knife, a pair of scissors, a slim pen (for stabbing!) and a nail file (for additional stabbings). I walk through the metal detector and set it off with my gargantuan belt buckle and the bag goes through the X-Ray and as I'm finally cleared through the metal detector, the X-Ray guy looks at me and says, "This your bag?"
"Shit," I'm thinking, "I'm in trouble. They found the card and they know I'm a leftist. I'm fucked."
"Found this hidden on the side. Knew right where to look." He holds my toothpaste towards me. "Can't carry more than 3 ounces, you know, gonna have to confiscate it." He hands dumps it and hands me my bag.
"Oh," I say, acting glum, "I guess that's the price of freedom."
30.10.07
Superheroes
I'm definitely working on an idea for a sorta superhero team. Tristyn knows about it, mom does, too.
But this post made me think of an idea for a superhero team. Actually, don't read the post. Read the title. Well, read the post if you want, it's the title that's important in this case.
So you get a bunch of guys named "Mark" and they each have some overwhelming characteristic. Mark of Quality, Mark of Approval, Mark of Showiness, etc. etc. All right, so I'm not sure how they're superheroes, exactly, but perhaps it could instead be a tale of brotherhood and how group dynamics work or something. I don't know.
OH! And they can have little clay models of themselves - or homunculi, even - and they can leave them behind after solving some crimes or something. So they'll each leave their "mark."
Get it?
But this post made me think of an idea for a superhero team. Actually, don't read the post. Read the title. Well, read the post if you want, it's the title that's important in this case.
So you get a bunch of guys named "Mark" and they each have some overwhelming characteristic. Mark of Quality, Mark of Approval, Mark of Showiness, etc. etc. All right, so I'm not sure how they're superheroes, exactly, but perhaps it could instead be a tale of brotherhood and how group dynamics work or something. I don't know.
OH! And they can have little clay models of themselves - or homunculi, even - and they can leave them behind after solving some crimes or something. So they'll each leave their "mark."
Get it?
Sick
I've got this crazy head cold going on right now. I'm filled with snot, which is delightful. It donned yesterday morning and was exacerbated (I think) by an allergy flair up triggered by cleaning mouse poos out of my closet in me mum's house. My brain feels like cotton right now, my thinking is not clear. I've crawled up all inside myself. For a while I thought it was the Cold/Flu Relief stuff that had been fucking with my head, but now I think it's actually the cold.
The mucus must have climbed up and short circuited some of the synapses in my brain.
Or maybe it's taking over. Approach with caution the next time you see me, friends and family, for it might not be the Krister you know and love. You might look into my eyes only to find a sinister snot monster at the wheel of a Krister-shaped vehicle!
Well, I shouldn't assume he (or she) would be sinister. Perhaps it's a benevolent or even jocular and gregarious snot monster.
Anyway, my point is, approach with caution as it might try to take you over, too!
All hope is not lost for me, though, so long as my antibodies and T cells do their work.
All right, I'll start a pool. You all predict on which date the mucus becomes sentient and commandeers my corpse, throw in a buck. I'll pay up when it happens. If it doesn't, I'll keep the money in a kleenex/decongestant/chicken noodle soup/ginger ale fund. If y'all ever get sick, we'll fight back with Western Medicine.
The mucus must have climbed up and short circuited some of the synapses in my brain.
Or maybe it's taking over. Approach with caution the next time you see me, friends and family, for it might not be the Krister you know and love. You might look into my eyes only to find a sinister snot monster at the wheel of a Krister-shaped vehicle!
Well, I shouldn't assume he (or she) would be sinister. Perhaps it's a benevolent or even jocular and gregarious snot monster.
Anyway, my point is, approach with caution as it might try to take you over, too!
All hope is not lost for me, though, so long as my antibodies and T cells do their work.
All right, I'll start a pool. You all predict on which date the mucus becomes sentient and commandeers my corpse, throw in a buck. I'll pay up when it happens. If it doesn't, I'll keep the money in a kleenex/decongestant/chicken noodle soup/ginger ale fund. If y'all ever get sick, we'll fight back with Western Medicine.
21.10.07
Dudes
Were I a spider, I'd totally set up shop next to a lightbulb and feast forever on plump, juicy moths. Shop means web.
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