FreeRadikal's blog

I feel that carnivores get a bad rap; I mean they aren’t the ones waging a genocidal war on plants. How humane is it to rip a being from its leisurely resting place and chop it to bits? It’s like going into an old folk’s home (where they are all plants anyways), and then ripping those contently little wrinkled potatoes from their comfy resting places.  You throw them in burlap sacks and toss them into a cold dirty flat bed.  And then you sift through them, if they have spots or are fuzzy then you pitch them into the garbage; at least I say, put them back in the ground!

White Rhino has a new album out called: "Stop Tryin' to Tag my Azz!"

I like the Andes mints because the York P Patty sometimes is too much of a committment.

Sex or grocery shopping? It’s not that difficult of a choice, but why not to both. Cart sex anyone? In the cart corral? I saw some carts engaged in an awkward but possibly sensual position last weekend at Target.  I was sure of one thing, it wasn’t family friendly. It seems to me though that shopping carts are very promiscuous and obviously don’t mate with one partner for life. Shopping carts are obviously not very vain because even the cart with a squeaky wheel, a sticky handle bar and lots of rust seems to get plenty of action.

Tis no jaunt dealing with the extravagant rumblings of me mind; I am sad today not only to remember those who have fallen in terrorists attacks or to remember those who have fallen in combat but to see all the hate that still persists in this world. I read one article on 9/11 and then I read comments of those who blame blame blame. Do we all just cry about the blood that has been shed or complain about what is not done? I know you who read this are like me: we remember so as not to forget sacrifice and we continue to praise those who are brave by living each day to do better.

Yesterday’s post was named ‘Hungry Hungry Hippo Heart’ obviously a mashing of the Boss and my love of a childhood game, but no children my mind does not stop there.  I am a sincere lover of body humor.  Body humor may seem simple along with gross out humor.  However, when we look at the media of our pleasant nation we often see body humor go too far.  With that anecdotal tangent being stated, I thought: I wonder what a hungry hippo fart smells like?

I wish I could write every day, but when the wall of paper is push down upon me by the angry robots I have to fight back. I stand up and shake my fists as I kick at the paper.  I say: ”Damn you angry robots!”

Kill Roy Cobbletop plowed down the virgin powder on the face of some unknown mountain when the Omega Class Starship buzzed by him no more than 100 feet above. He had no idea how they found him in this far corner of the galaxy on his much needed vacation, sure he was wanted in 99% of the Universe for petty crime, misdemeanors and various parking violations, but he still needed a vacation.

Privacy…what’s that? It’s is a state of mind; I’m by myself all the time. It’s just hard to find privacy, I live in a one bedroom apartment with my wife and no matter how well constructed an apartment building is unless it was built by the Soviet’s or by Brutalism Architects no wall is thick enough to stifle a scream.  Sure you can close the drapes and dance naked until your legs give way to gravity and the lactic acid that permeates through your muscle fibers.

I really feel like this is all an illusion, it sometimes doesn’t feel real.  I have nerve endings that interpret sensory input. I don’t quite feel plugged in all the time.

Shut up and drive, I don’t think this song is about driving.

There is nothing.

Danger. Danger. Brain doors opening.  Here comes the flood: