have you noticed the absence of pictures up in here lately?
my apologies to all the readers with no imaginations....
so,
moving on,
i saw a big-ass bald eagle yesterday.
i'm serious.
it was
huge.
like a feathery manta ray swimmin' by, attacking the sky.
naturally,
i was pretty psyched.
shamanic spirit animal conjuring aside,
it was big, burly, imposing, an' all that,
but in NO way did it make me want to wear moccassins,
ride a fat boy, (in any sense of the term),
wave a flag,
sing bette midler songs,
claim a 1/26354856th native 'merican micmac/mohawk/cherokee bloodline,
or anything even close to the most common implications associated with the national bird.
mostly,
i just thought about how it got stuck with a lame name.
i mean,
vultures are way more like 'bald' eagles,
and condors are, too,
sh!t, even turkeys bear more resemblance.
all those ugly, wrinkly, bumpy, ballbag-and-beak headed f*ers are at least bald, right?
i think that we should start callin' the awesomeness that represents super-freedom 'merican freshness by some better other 'nother name,
one that makes 'em seem more exciting.
how about:
spread eagles?
then at least if they're not bald,
one can at least hope for a landing-strip,
or the classic metalhead vee shape,
or a heart, even,
although i think i may have veered away from the original thread of thinkin' on this one.....
we have waterbound pet frogs.
they are pretty stupid.
and sorta ugly in a children's book monster way.
they look like blops of boiled chicken, in soup.
we call them
pink barbie frogs,
after my daughter coined the term in a pet store years and years ago.
mostly,
they be fat, make occasional splashy noises, and sit in some water.
BUT,
after
jess cleaned out their nasty skank-tank,
we noticed little translucent pearly boba-tea balls stuck to the faux flora within.
it would appear that in addition to being bulbous barfable bits of amphibia,
they also hard-style pound each other into a reproductive revelry, too.
aquatic african albino clawed frog's eggs, ya'll.
and the possibility of little baby tadpole creatures.
it's likely the little idiots will scoople up the developing embryos in their gaping genius maws,
and swallow their unborn babies in a paleolithic stem-cell celebration.
then again,
maybe a nativity miracle will occur, and some of the itsy-bitsy bubbles will survive?
IF it happens,
i'll have plenty of long-lived heinous science project test subjects to give away to all ya'll.
just what you need,
probably.
two years ago, i started a survival adventure,
with ten goldfish.
over the course of the ensuing years,
they have mostly stopped surviving.
i had two fish yesterday.
now i have one.
he looks like
gill from "
what about bob?".
the dead one was lookin pretty horrific when i noticed his deadness.
it doesn't take long to turn into a slime-covered filth creature underwater...
you know what comes next;
at least this time i flushed him before i peed into his watery resting bowl,
and exacted a solemn sloshing farewell to his icthyoid corpse.
...and
then i peed.
-dear mr. other fish,
(the alive one, umm,
gill, i mean)
you seem to be taking the loss of that other tankmate of yours well.
i'm here for you in your time of grief,
with shine-enhancing premium flakes,
keep swimming back and forth,
and accidentally eating your own poop,
over and over and over and over.
it's never going to turn into a worm,
you can probably stop doing that.
it's gross.
love,
albie.
the year is in it's death throes.
little symbols are indicating the truth of that.
the reappearance of the suckiest plow guy on the planet,
then the fish,
and worst of all,
i also
had some kickass shoes.
they said 'waterproof' right on the soles.
then,
the soles cracked along the treadmarks,
and they became water
logged.
gore-tex moisture-magic huh?
right.
tell it to my soggy sock.
lameness.
but,
despite the waterborne births and deaths,
the sad state of my shoes,
the mystical eagle's eggs powers,
and the solstice-induced windswept raging snowsplosions every other day,
at least my buddy
mike holmes is keepin' it kim chee in seoul.
they have grabby-arm vendng machine claw games,
where you can scoople up a live lobster!
asia is f*d up, ya'll.
makes ya feel good, though, right?
knowing that someone out there is repeatedly battering a very confused lobster,
with a spring-loaded,
hydraulic electrical bobot graboid,
in a vending machine,
for a dollar.
most north american white-headed eagles eat fish.
i should've used the dead fish's full potential up by leavin' him outside,
y'know, to lure the spread eagles out.....
eagle/mantaray/frogs/fish/socks/snowsplosion/lobsters.
water-based, ya'll.
so hard;
never quiet, never soft....
