• John Titor Fan Fiction: The Accidental Nap

    John Titor’s machine was gravity based and would allow him to travel back to the time he needed to go.  However, one day while “rewinding” (he was trying to watch someone type in a password into the IBM he was about to obtain 10 minutes into the future) a black hole shot an anti- ray right onto his machine (like a reverse disco ball) thus disabling the Gravity Sensor Unit and throwing him sideways onto another timestrip that was a phantom strip but one that kept going, like a fart that never leaves.

    Anyhoo, he found himself in the year 1999 and was giggling over the y2k hype, not knowing he was on a phantom timestrip.  “The sky will be falling from now on,” he thought and went to an internet café and tried to log onto his email account but kept failing. 

    Finally, he went to the administrator behind the counter.

    “My computer isn’t working.”

    “What’s wrong with it?”

    “I can’t get any pages to come up.”

    So, he walked over with John and asked for the page.

    “It’s just yahoo.”

    “Don’t know it,” and typed “iii.yahoo.go” and the yahoo page came up.

    John then realized he was on the wrong time strip and asked, “What do you guys call the problem about the double-digit numbers turning over to 1900 instead of 2000?”

    “What problem?  We don’t have a-“

    And then everything around him started disappearing like a fog clearing and he knew that the phantom time had finally dissipated.  He’d never been in the absence of time and began to take a nap because a physicist had once written, “A true nap can only be perfect when there is no time to be wasted and none to worry.”

    And he napped in no time.  But it seemed like forever.

    Meanwhile, in another time, a physicist had written the word “crap” and then accidentally typed “nap”.

     

  • A CD from a Tapas Restaurant

    Two guys walk by a guy who is building a fort out of toothpicks and is in the stage of finding something small enough to enjoy the fort.  One guy says, “Hey, why is taking Mo so long to make a cd?”  The other guy says, “Because he can’t find an animal willing to enjoy his newly varnished fort.”

    I can send you free is a cd compilation that I received to promote a show that started with my bass player saying,

    200px-Johan_Olov_Wallin.jpg  “Hey Mo, this guy wants us to play at his restaurant and will feed us and pay us.   It’s on a Monday and they want to make a cd of the bands playing just to promote the shows.”

    prospect2.jpg “ok”

    The Saturday before the show I was walking in the neighborhood of the venue and looked inside.  It was a tapas restaurant which was good because I began looking forward to my free tapas dinner but there was nowhere to set up, no p.a., nothing.  My ominous feeling about this gig was simultaneously felt by my bass player who called me within the half hour and said,

    200px-Johan_Olov_Wallin.jpg “Hey Mo, I have a weird feeling about playing at this restaurant.  I want to go by and check it out.”

    prospect2.jpg “Hey, I’m pretty close to it and I have the same feelings.”

    We met the owner at the restaurant and told him who we were.  He looked panicked since this will be the whole band, rocking very close to people eating dinner.

    columbus.jpg “We can move this table.”  But, the table’s not the problem.  The whole thing is the problem.  So, I offer to cancel it as a misunderstanding.  The band the previous week had to stop because customers were leaving.  This situation was not far from Hedwig’s seafood restaurant tour and cancelling would be in the best interest of everyone.  But the owner was looking for rainbows in an exploding toilet.

    columbus.jpg “No, I would like you to play.  How about if you come and if it is too loud then you stop and still get paid and eat.”

    I’m all for that but I know its going to be a pain for everyone else. 

    The situation was finally remedied at 4pm on Monday and it was agreed that I would do the show by myself.  I shit you not when I tell you that it was too loud even with me unamplified.  No mics, no amplifiers.  Just me, my accordion, and my casio piano’s tiny speakers.  The dudes who signed the Arctic Monkeys showed up and I just shook my head thinking, You came to this one.  But I enjoyed myself because it was so quiet and will do it again in such manner someday.

    You can have a souvenir of this debacle.  Free.  It’s just a compilation of latin rock bands and me.  I should have recorded the performance but I didn’t.  I’ll mail you one or give you one somewhere.  And I will continue working on my new cd of songs. cornmo@hotmail.com

  • A Treasure of Crap

    Still sick.  How bloggy of me.  I think I’m grinding my teeth in my sleep and in the process I’m milling/mining some mercury and thus making myself a most incredible moron.  There’s more to it than lame excuses I’m sure but that’s a good one I think.

    I love lists.  I really enjoy crafting my setlist before a show.  I love watching my grandmother make a grocery list for me.  It’s well thought out and the handwriting is shaky and in cursive.  She usually verbally adds souse because I think she knows its bad for her (souse is a cold cut made from pig snouts).  VH1 goes shithouse on lists.  What?  What I thought was brilliant wasn’t?  What was I thinking?  Lists are quick and factual.  It’s good that I like doing my taxes.  It’s bad that I’ll allow myself to look at inane lists ad nauseam.

    Thus, I have some crap I need to loseWeight Exercise.  Email me your address if you like crap (I’m not going to shit in a box. I know how to but I choose not to) and I’ll enclose the follow-up email with a list of what I am parting to you.  And believe you me, it will be a treasure of crap.

    love,

    Dummy

  • Sick of being Sick

    I’m sick today.  I hate being sick.  I can’t concentrate on anything except headaches and coughing.  I got it on the plane yesterday.  I should start wearing a mask on the plane so that I don’t get sick or get others sick.  A full-hooded mask.  “Hey, I’m cool.  I’m just sick.  And polite.”

    I started writing today and ended up with a stupid poem called “Fat Balling”.  I deleted it.  I can’t write sick.  I’m a moron plus sick.

    Lilly

    My Aunt Lilly makes birthday phone calls as it is her hobby.  She also calls the local radio station to remind them to say happy birthday, also.  I had her call my roommate for his birthday and I think this is how it went:

    “happy birthday to you happy birthday to you happy birthday i love you happy birthday to you.”

    “Thanks, Lilly.  How are you?”

    “I don’t feel too good. I woke up with a headache.  When’s Jon coming home?”

    “I don’t know.”

    Sometime I’ll do her voice for you.  It makes a better story. 

    Kid Laughed at Joke

    My 5-year-old niece told me a knock-knock joke and I told it to my friend’s 6-year-old and he turned red in the face with laughter.  It’s a good joke.  Then, he made me play Busey Boy on the piano.  My friend has good kids.

    Third Base

    I saw the girl I went to third base with for the first time and didn’t say hello.  That wasn’t nice of me but it seemed awkward since it seemed like yesterday. Basketball pep band was awkward, too.  I do a lot of awkward shit.  I should have said, “hello.”

    Fatballing

    Fat ball

    Fat  . . . bald

    Fat . . .  balding

    Fat  . . . balling

    BONANZA!

    I told you.

     

  • Dallas Fan Fiction: Working on My Belfast Accent at a Pub on Greenville Avenue at a Bring In The Weekend Party

    This guy named Cliff? used to work at Taffy’s on Good Latimer? but then gave up on yelling every time he started the pulling machine? so he got fired? But then by mistake? he loaded the machine backwards? and it started brushing against the newspaper stand? so that it took the print off like a piece of silly putty would? but then would stay on? and somehow the print wouldn’t stretch? and so the pieces of taffy afterward had printing on them? and his boss started calling him Gutenberg? but with a Trenton, NJ accent? even though he was already fired? and he worked there for another year? even though he wasn’t supposed to? and then he moved to Waxahachie? but he couldn’t drive to work? so he got a job selling cookies at the Scarborough Fair?  and he liked that better?

     

  • The Man in the Vellum Pants

    These guys were doing chores on a farm and the one guy had plastic pants to keep his other pants from getting dirty.  The devil himself would see him and would shake his head saying, “At least I’m not that guy.”  He wasn’t THE devil but a rockabilly guy who had a devil on his lighter.  But the plastic panter was good at making piles.  Really good at it.  He numbered his piles and marked each one as if it were a garden of piles.  He even kept a log of the piles with a vellum paper map attachment.  The maps were transparent enough to see the history of the pile placement.  Luckily, the owner of the farm enjoyed seeing such documentation and contacted a publisher of almanacs about his employee.  The publisher laughed and hung up.  It wasn’t until seven years later that the book was found that the pile documenter was properly recognized.  During a time transport viewing, the farmer was heard saying, “Reading that logbook’s map was like peeling an onion.  It-“ and as he paused the worker looked up from shoveling, smiled, and looked at the devil and said, “See, I told you.”

    Red-Eyed-Devil-lit.jpg It was handmade.  It could only be started by a lady with Betty Page bangs.