E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. 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This was the first time in human history, Buckminster said, that people had dealt with their poop and pee instead of just getting rid of it. But he didn’t use the term “poop and pee.” “This is the first time in human history that we’ve dealt with the issues caused by plumbing!” he said. “Nobody before has dealt with the issues caused by plumbing!” Bucminster then stated that each human creates seven pounds of “chemistry” each day. I can see seven pounds for Mr. Kitty, what with his disproportionately large cat turds, but seven pounds seems like it’s on the high side for me. But anyway, based on this figure, Buckminster started adding up how many pounds of human waste were created in each city and for each city every month, and for each city every year - all waste that is just flushed down toilets instead of being “dealt with.” As Buckminster’s sums of human waste flushed down the toilet grew, he became increasingly agitated. And as he progressed with his lecture it became increasingly more difficult for him to think up polite terms for poop and pee that he could use at the lectern. Each time he came to “poop and pee” he kept pausing for a longer and longer time, searching for a synonym. Mr. Kitty and I couldn’t resist yelling at the television during these pauses. “Say it Buckminster, say it!” We shouted gleefully, “say ‘poop and pee!!’” Brian 3:11 PM Monday, April 07, 2003 I learned a new insult yesterday. I was riding the “L” home from work sitting next to a woman and her young child. Their conversation went something like this: Child: (to mother) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: What? Child: (giggling) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: Who taught you that? Child: (shouting with glee) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: (sternly) Don’t call me that! Child: Stinky booty! Mother: Do you want a knuckle sandwich? Child: Stinky booty! Mother: (slapping child across the face) Don’t you fucking disrespect your mother like that! Child (crying) Mother: Now you be a good three year old! That three year old was a bad influence on me. I don’t really know exactly what it means to be a stinky booty (it seems to me the name would be most applicable to, like, Mr. Kitty, who always insists on taking his smelly cat dumps while I’m trying to eat in our small apartment). Regardless, I couldn’t wait to call somebody a “stinky booty” as soon as I got off of the L. But there was nobody I knew well enough to call a “stinky booty” at the L stop. I was disappointed. I woke at three this morning with Mr. Kitty’s filthy cat paw on my lips and decided to do some laundry. On the ground floor of my building I encountered a group of drunken rogues returning from their weekend bar-goings. “It’s a little late to do your laundry!” One guy shouted at me, eyeing my laundry detergent and laundry basket. “You’re all a bunch of stinky booties!” I cackled back at them as I hurtled up the decrepit stairwell in flip flops with my detergent and basket. And if you’re patient, I bet you’ll get a chance to call somebody a stinky booty too. Brian 10:52 PM Wednesday, April 02, 2003 I don’t know what happened this morning. I forgot my belt. I forgot my bus-riding gloves too, but fortuitous circumstances and more than a little lightning-fast thinking on my part allowed me to commute this morning without touching any poles on the bus with my bare hands. But that’s behind me now. I’m here at the office and I just realized that I forgot my belt. Without a belt, I feel like I’m wearing pajamas. Like those kinds of clown-suit pajamas with the collar and wide lapel and one big button on the pajama shirt like my dad wears. I’m feeling very self conscious right now. If a big crowd of my co-workers catches me out in the halls and starts pushing me around and calling me “Pajama Pete” in a derisive fashion, I don’t know what I’ll do. Actually, I know exactly what I’ll do. I’ll use my ninja move. There’s only one ninja move that I know, but I’ve read that it is very effective in those ninja books that I order out of the back of magazines that nay-sayers tell me that I am “wasting my money on.” My move is called, “throw sand in face.” Unfortunately, there’s very little sand in this office environment. But I’m nothing if not adaptable - I’m preparing some staples. The bad part about staples is that they come all stuck together in that stick. Throwing a staple stick at somebody would be very ineffective (I didn’t read this in a book, I’m just using common sense here). However, separating the staples requires very meticulous and time consuming labor. I’ve got a little pile of staples on my desk and I’m going to carry them around in an air-mail envelope I got out of the supply closet. That’s why I’m wearing safety goggles today - just in case you were wondering - so I don’t get a staple in my eye if some people start calling me “Pajama Pete.” Of course, I’m not being serious here about the staples. I would never throw staples at ANYBODY, not if they called me “that fucking Pajama Pete the asshole,” or even something worse. Brian 10:46 AM

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House of Noh!

Friday, April 25, 2003

On a documentary Mr. Kitty and I were watching last night on living machines, sustainable city living, and responsible energy use we saw a clip of the late and great Bucminster Fuller giving a lecture. Bucminster’s lecture was recorded just after the first humanned space mission had been completed successfully. Bucky was just sort of blah about people being in space for the first time. What Buckminster thought was by far the more grand step for humankind had been that, while in space, the space capsule had been a closed environment. This was the first time in human history, Buckminster said, that people had dealt with their poop and pee instead of just getting rid of it. But he didn’t use the term “poop and pee.” “This is the first time in human history that we’ve dealt with the issues caused by plumbing!” he said. “Nobody before has dealt with the issues caused by plumbing!” Bucminster then stated that each human creates seven pounds of “chemistry” each day. I can see seven pounds for Mr. Kitty, what with his disproportionately large cat turds, but seven pounds seems like it’s on the high side for me. But anyway, based on this figure, Buckminster started adding up how many pounds of human waste were created in each city and for each city every month, and for each city every year - all waste that is just flushed down toilets instead of being “dealt with.” As Buckminster’s sums of human waste flushed down the toilet grew, he became increasingly agitated. And as he progressed with his lecture it became increasingly more difficult for him to think up polite terms for poop and pee that he could use at the lectern. Each time he came to “poop and pee” he kept pausing for a longer and longer time, searching for a synonym. Mr. Kitty and I couldn’t resist yelling at the television during these pauses. “Say it Buckminster, say it!” We shouted gleefully, “say ‘poop and pee!!’”

Brian 3:11 PM

Monday, April 07, 2003

I learned a new insult yesterday. I was riding the “L” home from work sitting next to a woman and her young child. Their conversation went something like this: Child: (to mother) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: What? Child: (giggling) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: Who taught you that? Child: (shouting with glee) You’re a stinky booty! Mother: (sternly) Don’t call me that! Child: Stinky booty! Mother: Do you want a knuckle sandwich? Child: Stinky booty! Mother: (slapping child across the face) Don’t you fucking disrespect your mother like that! Child (crying) Mother: Now you be a good three year old! That three year old was a bad influence on me. I don’t really know exactly what it means to be a stinky booty (it seems to me the name would be most applicable to, like, Mr. Kitty, who always insists on taking his smelly cat dumps while I’m trying to eat in our small apartment). Regardless, I couldn’t wait to call somebody a “stinky booty” as soon as I got off of the L. But there was nobody I knew well enough to call a “stinky booty” at the L stop. I was disappointed. I woke at three this morning with Mr. Kitty’s filthy cat paw on my lips and decided to do some laundry. On the ground floor of my building I encountered a group of drunken rogues returning from their weekend bar-goings. “It’s a little late to do your laundry!” One guy shouted at me, eyeing my laundry detergent and laundry basket. “You’re all a bunch of stinky booties!” I cackled back at them as I hurtled up the decrepit stairwell in flip flops with my detergent and basket. And if you’re patient, I bet you’ll get a chance to call somebody a stinky booty too.

Brian 10:52 PM

Wednesday, April 02, 2003

I don’t know what happened this morning. I forgot my belt. I forgot my bus-riding gloves too, but fortuitous circumstances and more than a little lightning-fast thinking on my part allowed me to commute this morning without touching any poles on the bus with my bare hands. But that’s behind me now. I’m here at the office and I just realized that I forgot my belt. Without a belt, I feel like I’m wearing pajamas. Like those kinds of clown-suit pajamas with the collar and wide lapel and one big button on the pajama shirt like my dad wears. I’m feeling very self conscious right now. If a big crowd of my co-workers catches me out in the halls and starts pushing me around and calling me “Pajama Pete” in a derisive fashion, I don’t know what I’ll do. Actually, I know exactly what I’ll do. I’ll use my ninja move. There’s only one ninja move that I know, but I’ve read that it is very effective in those ninja books that I order out of the back of magazines that nay-sayers tell me that I am “wasting my money on.” My move is called, “throw sand in face.” Unfortunately, there’s very little sand in this office environment. But I’m nothing if not adaptable - I’m preparing some staples. The bad part about staples is that they come all stuck together in that stick. Throwing a staple stick at somebody would be very ineffective (I didn’t read this in a book, I’m just using common sense here). However, separating the staples requires very meticulous and time consuming labor. I’ve got a little pile of staples on my desk and I’m going to carry them around in an air-mail envelope I got out of the supply closet. That’s why I’m wearing safety goggles today - just in case you were wondering - so I don’t get a staple in my eye if some people start calling me “Pajama Pete.” Of course, I’m not being serious here about the staples. I would never throw staples at ANYBODY, not if they called me “that fucking Pajama Pete the asshole,” or even something worse.

Brian 10:46 AM

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