Category Archives: Humor

The Limit of Sugar Mountain

Oh ye, good Bloggarians… my sentiments shalt sting… my logic, yea, shalt shatter your emotional consonance… but, alas…

I just gots ta tell y’all the truth.

From Conkrite to Rathers, Walters to Donaldson, Friedman to Chomsky, ‘Media’ was the unbiased, uni-directional communication of news and information.

The ‘Social’ aspect introduced the possibility of ‘evolving’ Media communication into a multi-directional exchange between two or more homo (and/or hetero) sapiens.

In the ‘real’ world, only 7% of social interactions is based on verbal exchanges, with 93% constituting para-linguistic cues, such as facial expressions and intonation, as well as body language.

Enter, Mark Zuckerberg (etymology, ‘Mark’, West Saxon origin of ‘mearc’, or ‘limit’; etymology of Zuckerberg, Germanic origin, ‘sugar mountain’).

‘Social Media’ wasn’t simply accepted, it was embraced… applauded… lauded…

So much so, that the collective human ego was willing to turn a blind eye to the global lexicide instigated by it.

An already tiny minority of communication, Social Media is massacring that meager 7% into extinction.

Yet, as Social Media slays away at language, humanity stands by, echoing it’s shorthand laugh…


For we have foregone all grammatical morality…

Prostituting parentheses and colons as emojis; pimping numbers 4 cheap prepositions; disemboweling words of their vowels; trafficking subjects and predicates illegally…

Woe is the truth! But the truth it still is!

None other than a Sugar Mountain of Limits!

Stunting  what otherwise could have been the birth of a new generation of Shakespears, Joyces & Hemmingways…

Replacing such literary possibility with a sea of Millennial authors, whose given Christian names have been traded in for ludicrous and vulgar eponyms…

KensDoll, Hot4U…Gr8Sexpectations.

All the meanwhile, Sugar Mountain mocks us ‘Users’… ADDICTS, itching to be Liked, Followed, Friended, and Shared. Tagged, no less we are… DIGITAL VOODOO DOLLS!

Damnation, I tell you! The demise of humanity beyond Biblical proportions! For at least Babel built a language!

What will it take to wake mankind from its Sugar Mountain coma? Our grandchildren receiving, literally, an abbreviated and misspelled version of history?

We z ppl of z US, n Ordr 2 form a > perfect Union, estblsh Justis, n shur domestic Tranqulty, provide 4 z common defense, promote z gnral Wlfare & scure z Blssings of Librty 2 ourselves & our Posterity, do ordain & establsh this Consttution 4 z US of A.

We should loath no one but ourselves for what is to come… for we crawl like ants to the Sugar Mountain, feasting on its socially carcinogenic saccharine. Rewarded by empty caloric comments, our Timeline gets fatter and fatter… until we find ourselves unable to escape our mobile, tablet and laptop screens.

I leave you with this: it is nary too late. For there are some who can be saved, who can see the proverbial light. In those people, I have hope. I see a future. They are the warriors empowering a Social that will never surrender to Media.

And once I find them, I swear by the letters with which I write…

I’m gonna add them as Friends on Facebook.



Oh Ye, Vagina! Abandon Thy Ville-ainous Farm!

Friends, Ville-ans and countrymen! Drop your virtual potatoes and lend me your ears…

Good man men who plowth not for plants, but points, what is it you reap from such a game? What fruits do you bear when all you sow is virtual?

Honey child, unless your first name is Cruella, it’s time to let go of the Ville… Fish, Pet, City, Frontier, Chef…

but most of all, especially Farm.

Did you really want to be a farmer when you were 10? Then why do you want to be one at 30?

You may not see that it has consumed you- but from the objective view of point of our newsfeeds, it is undeniably evident you spend your entire life on that croppy game (pun intended, poorness of the pun, duly noted)…

Nonetheless, studying how this epidemic has become a pandemic which is now systemic in being utterly pathetic, what is most alarming is that each one of you Ville-ans do not recognize that you are on the verge of becoming…


Otherwise known as a ‘Ville-an Amauroticly Gaming In Need of Aid’.

Unfortunately, a mild case will go undetected before one becomes a full-fledged VAGINA, and anti-social behavior can be observed. As a result, it becomes an extremely painful process for those seeking to get through to a VAGINA, sometimes seeming almost next to impossible.

The only solution at this point is similar to that of a heroin addict, ceasing the gaming and cutting off access to online friends who frequently used to play with the VAGINA. Initially, withdrawal symptoms mirror those of a heroin addict as well, such as a VAGINA appearing to be excessively itchy; however, over time, eventually this does dissipate as a VAGINA’s elasticity of substitution expands and they learn to replace gaming with other activities of interest.

Ironically, online studies show more men are VAGINAs than women, with the predominant number of them Brazilian. These studies come from online advertisers mainly who will throw a lot of money at a VAGINA, as they are a great way to test new versions of their games.

Additionally, because there are no medical studies on them, recognizing a VAGINA only occurs upon becoming exposed by friends, though in Appalachia there have been incidents where a VAGINA has been exposed by various family members as well. Of the ones who game at work, inevitably these VAGINAs are exposed by an office colleague or even their boss.

Sadly, in more conservative parts of the world, exposing a VAGINA is for some reason a cultural taboo. What’s even more tragic, is that these VAGINAs seldom have access to protection.

So, the next time you tell yourself you want to be a Farmer, ask yourself: yes, but do I really want to end up a VAGINA?
It’s time to end the madness, stop the mania.
You’re better than that.

All Blog Myself: An Ode to ‘Older’ of the Freshly Pressed

Sometimes, a routine day inadvertently becomes a very memorable one. Today is one of them for me.

I woke up this morning to find…

I’m no longer Freshly Pressed… well, not on page one of Freshly Pressed… but who are we kidding… no one actually clicks on ‘older’ and reads them…

Hence, in the spirit of Eric Carmen’s ‘All By Myself’, to express what a blog entry cannot, I give you my rendition:

‘All Blog Myself’…

An ode to the end of being on the first page of Freshly Pressed… and it goes out to all you ‘Older’ Freshly Pressed

Here is the instrumental music so you can really get into it and feel my pain:

It’s a crappy version, but it’s good enough to feel the pain and really sing it from the heart. Enjoy…

“All Blog Myself”

When I joined on
I never needed anyone
And writing blogs was just for fun
Those days are gone

Blogging alone
I know my Freshly Pressed is done
Cause it’s no longer on page one
Yes it is gone

All blog myself
Don’t wanna be
All blog myself

All blog myself
Don’t wanna be
All blog myself

Hard to be sure
Sometimes I feel so insecure
Pressed is so distant and obscure
But it’s the cure

All blog myself
Don’t wanna be
All blog myself

All blog myself
Don’t wanna be
All blog myself

When I joined on
I never needed anyone
And writing blogs was just for fun
Freshed Pressed is gone

All blog myself
Don’t wanna be
All blog myself

All blog myself
Don’t wanna write
Don’t wanna write
Blog myself
Blog myself

Blog myself

Blog myself
Don’t wanna write
I never, never, never
Needed anyone

Reblogging Your Own Blog… Why Not Just Redial the Guy Not Answering You?

An audience is not a nation. You cannot enforce their viewership.

I noticed one of the options included among all the clickable thingys at the end of my WordPress post is ‘Reblog’.

Now, it is possible, in all my Internet/blogging/onine ignorance, that I have perhaps misunderstood the purpose of the Reblog button. But if part of its purpose is to reblog what I initially blogged, am I the desperate chick who calls up a guy who didn’t bother answering, only to ‘make sure’ he saw my missed call by following up with 16 more phone calls, 31 messages and a dozen BBMs?

We write blogs because we are creative, not because we are hungry for attention.

(I know, I just reread that too and even I’m laughing my tooshy off).

Okay, so we bloggers are human. We want to feel our blogs are worthy of attention, ergo we are worthy of attention. We do appreciate the positive strokes, and even in negative comments, the fact a few minutes of time was given to our blog is a few minutes more attention to the recognition of our self-expression.

Having said that, there’s a fine line between hoping for some traffic and reactions to your writings and blog-stalking people.

The former is Clarisse. The latter… kinda comes off as Hannibal Lechter.

So, once we blog, it is out there. What happens to it out there, well, that’s up to whatever Power you believe in or the laws of Internet Quantum Physics that you espouse. No matter how funny, interesting or amazing you know your writing is (and this, you must believe always because that confidence or lack of will come through in your writing), you got to let it be amazing on its own…

Share. Spread. Let it loose.

Press it once, but don’t pimp it.

I will not blog mean things and spam

I am not Sam
I am not Sam

I do not like
blogging mean things and spam!

Do you like
mean things and spam?

I do not like them,
I do not like
mean things and spam.

Would you like them
in emails and on Twitter?

I would not like them
on facebook or in pictures on Flickr.

I do not like
mean things and spam.

I will not blog them,

Would you like them
on your wall?

Would you like them
on any site at all?

I do not like them
on my wall.
I do not like them
on any site at all.
I do not like them
in emails and on Twitter.
I do not like them
in pictures on Flickr.
I do not like mean things and spam.
I will not blog them, Sam-I-not-am.

Would you let them in an inbox?
Would you let them flood your Firefox?

Not in an inbox
Not on my Firefox.
Not on my wall.
Not on any site at all.
I would not let them in an inbox.
I would not let them flood my Firefox.
I will not blog mean things and spam.
I do not like them, Sam-I-not-am.

Would you? Could you?
On your iPad?

I would not,
could not,
on my iPad.

You may like mean things and spam.
You will see.
You may like them
in a forward CC-ed!

I would not, could not in a CC.
Not on my iPad! You let me be!

A Blackberry! A Blackberry!
Could you, would you,
on a Blackberry?

Not on email. Not on Twitter.
Not on facebook. Not in pictures on Flickr.
I do not like them, Sam-not, you see.
Not on my wall. Not on any site at all.
Not in an inbox. Not on my Firefox.
Not on my iPad. Not on a Blackberry.
I will not let them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere!

I will not blog mean things and spam.
I will not blog them,

On the Sexual Orientation Implications of the Poke…

I’m not gay.

Nor is what I am about to ask in any way intended to open a debate, exploring the political/social discussion around sexual orientation.

But there’s been a very perplexing question floating around in my head, which expands every time the ‘Poke’ suggestions on facebook include some of my female friends…

If I poke a girl, and I’m a girl, am I giving her reason to question my sexual orientation?

The ‘Pokes’ I’ve always gotten on facebook have been from the opposite sex (and I’ve never initiated ‘Poke’, but rather responded back, as I’m old-school and diehard in believing the whole ‘the man is the hunter’ theory… so all you little young chickies chuckling at me for believing in that theory and think otherwise, you come see me… Wonderbras don’t get men, nor does collagen… it’s AT-TI-TUDE, ladies, attitude… but let us leave that for another blog entry)…

Yet, I have never been ‘Poked’ by a female. So when that facebook ‘Poke’ suggestion thingy lists women among the potential Pokees, I always wonder, why don’t I Poke them and why don’t they Poke me?

Why does this bother me so much? Because apparently, I do have the time to worry about it.

Nevertheless, I really would like to ‘Poke’ a girl and say that I liked it (hey, I’m 38, so that’s pretty much the extent of humor I can offer via a Kate Perry pun). To do that though, I would first need to define what essentially ‘The Poke’ insinuates.

And since there is no real life social analogy on which the facebook ‘Poke’ was based, one can only start to deduct its overall intention through the ways in which pokes are used in various real life sociological situations.

On the most innocent level, I may poke someone at a table in order to request the passing of a condiment. (Poke) “Mary, please pass the salt.”

On a secondary semi-innocent level, I may poke someone on the shoulder to get their attention. (Poke) “John, remember me?”

At a tertiary questionably innocent level, I may poke a friend to draw her attention to someone of interest to us having entered the room or interacting with a viable contender seeking his courtship. (Poke) “Lisa, look who Mike is talking to.” (Simultaneous catty response to evident female threat by me and Lisa) “BITCH.”

Leaving the last level, at the pre-hook up or already hooked up phase outside the realm of friendship, in which poking may be considered as the indication to begin the foreplay that leads to… well… the playing.

Upon analyzing these poking situations, if I attempt to surmise how they are analogous to the purpose of the facebook ‘Poke’, I can surely omit:

Pass me the salt.

The facebook ‘Poke’ could indeed be a ‘remember me’, but when the Pokee pokes the Poker back, and the Poker pokes the Pokee again, that negates this option.

What if the ‘Poke’ is meant to draw our attention to something? But since it there’s no subsequent explanation in terms of to what our attention is being drawn, I fail to see the success in creating the ‘Poke’ for that purpose.

However, since we are not within physical proximity of many people we would otherwise be attracted to and approach when given an opportunity outside the virtual world, it would seem logical that a ‘Poke’ does indeed serve to initiate pre-foreplay foreplay in the absence of physical proximity.

So, if I ‘Poke’ a girl, I may well be passing on a message that I’d like to take a cruise on the relationship rather than the friendship. Then again, if I do ‘Poke’ a girl who knows me well enough, she may take it as nothing at all and chalk it up to silliness…

You know, Mark Zuckerberg, with all the ridiculous changes you make to facebook, you could at least resolve this dilemma for me and for all other people out there who have the time to worry about this.

End it already. Just make a Platonic Poke button and be done with it. Really.

Crayola Can’t Make Brorange

Of Crayola’s 1,345,678 colors I have yet to see brorange.

Ironic, considering it is the most beautiful color of fall.

Brorange isn’t something though that can be synthetically created. It is a reminder to all of us that Mother Nature still has a leg up over technology and Jotun. It is the color of an old leaf resting on the sidewalk which hasn’t withered yet, but rather is newly retired from its full time career as a tree branch staffer.

It’s the color of wild grass that still retains a burnt glow of the afternoon sun, but with small brownish freckles from tanning under it all summer.

And brorange is one of the few colors that has a smell. In the morning, its a mixture of cold rain and warm cinnamon… that ferments into a midday scent resembling freshly cut grass and smoked almonds… by the evening, its mist of pumpkin pickled with pecans mingles with our noses.

You can hear brorange too. Its stillness in the morning crackling through the window… a song, no a symphony with movements peppered by schoolkids at their bus stops giggling and yawning… by the strings of rakes plucking through yards and gardens.

Brorange is the only color you can touch… it’s fragile, but not frail… it’s leather lined by rough suede… it bends, but doesn’t break… it’s the fabric upholstery of tree bark, ripe apples and the air at dawn.

Brorange is the only color that is reincarnated… its life is short, but its lifespan is eternal… the sadness of its departure is a sweet sorrow really… because even though it’s gone, it always comes back every fall.