Why did those ridiculous Roman bastards run out of words right when the got to the part of medical lexography where they had to name your neck and your bajingo? They were like, “Well, we’ll call this a cervix. And this… well… let’s just call it… a cervix.” The upshot: it makes it almost as hard to stifle laughter when you hear that there are vibrators made for “cervical massage” as it is the first time you learn there’s a cubist sculptor named Lipchitz. Who doesn’t love to ponder cubist sculptures of Lipchitz?
And as if that wasn't bad enough, he cast his sculptures out of bronze in the 40s and 50s, so now they look like this.
This is why they tell you you're supposed to be mature in school. Because as your education continues, you start to realize that the world is a little bit retarded, emotionally and socially and especially etymologically, and it's not cool to laugh at... that sort of thing... no matter how amusing it may be.
I have a problem with my face. My eyes don’t want to work together anymore, so I can’t read for longer than ten minutes or so without getting a pretty bad headache (it’s actually more like an eye-ache) that takes three or four hours to go away. What this means as I gear up to move a bajillion miles away to attend a graduate school in English most regularly described as “intense,” I don’t know. I'm suppopsed to start vision therapy soon, which sounds like an absolute blast. (My friend Steve said it best when he said, "You have to train your eyes for his magic glasses?") The medical condition, I gather, is called Strabismus, who I swear to god is a terrible, long-forgotten composer of the Romantic period of classical music. And now, pray tune thine ears for the joyful noise of Strabismus's second symphony. Holla!
My dad wanted to help. So what he did was, he threw gobs of money at a (possible) peripheral cause of my vision deficiency, and he bought me a 22-inch widescreen flat-panel Samsung LCD computer monitor.
Of course - I mean, I'm human - the first thing I did when I got it home was watch porn on it. And porn looks pretty amazing on a 22-inch widescreen flat-panel Samsung LCD computer monitor. And then I thought, "Why is your neck and your bajingo named the same thing?" God only knows why I said "your bajingo," because I was alone at the time. But that’s not really the point.
*note: I've always thought "(lol)" looked like the Bat Signal.*
The point is - well, one of the points is that, on a 22-inch monitor, extreme close-ups in porn are almost life-sized, but not quite, unless the actors are actually a good deal smaller than you'd expect, but still more or less proportionate (plus or minus some silicates). And that is weird. Another point is that, I also tested the monitor by watching a chunk of It's A Wonderful Life, and that is also weird.
Still another point is that, a clear contender for my favorite song of all time is “21st Century Digital Boy” by Bad Religion. And I always bristle when people say they’re pretty sure a song is about them. But I’m pretty sure this song is about me. Not in a good way, though.
I’m a 21st Century Digital Boy
I don’t know how to read, but I’ve got a lot of toys.
(Everything I want, I really need.)