Now This Is Just Incredibly Childish!

            A long time ago Mr. White pants went on vacation.

    He left the neighborhood without his protective
    presence. As he rode away, farting and quite possibly ‘sharting’ his old civil war military pants, he sang a song that was taught to him by his buddy’s old Dutch-German nanny. In a made-up language.

    We all think he is lying!!

People were GLAD he was gone. WHY?? Because Mr. White pants… smells.

He smells worse than Elmo.
Elmo smells like sour biscuits and gravy. And has marijuana-breath. Smells like 211, too.

Speaking of understanding- no one gets why ol’ White pants smells.

So people frickin HATE him.

Whoa! Shhh! Here he comes!!

Nope. Just a look-alike, mocking him at the parade.
Legend has it, he is full of gas and holds it except for once a year he goes and finally FARTS out at Yosemite National Park, killing wildlife and its always a near death experience for him too.

Ahh, finally… air!!

Hey, kids! Who REALLY smells??

“Our PARENTS! They smell like b.o. and coffee, but we won’t say. We try to be nice.”

Ahh yes! Quite nice to say nothing- lest ye offend them and be punished…

I, king Nazoneks, declare this post Whiff-worthy!

| A | `14

What Bothers Me Most About This Picture Is…

   Is that horses.. do not LOOK at the painter. They don’t give a CRAP about portraits. I mean, they will crap, but probably not in mid-air as the colon probably cinches up with a jump.

      Do YOU cinch up with a jump? Don’t tell me. Don’t tell your priest. No, wait.. DO! They need a laugh.

    Don’t mess with people at funeral homes, pleeease?? Do you know, they have to pretend there are not bodies in the joint. Or maybe that’s me.

      I went to a mauseleum. True story- I know my credit here is NO GOOD, but its true. I visited gramma’s grave and I said, “See YOU SOON!”- meaning like FIFTY YEARS. Soon enough. I got shit to do.

       So I told a funeral director THERE a joke about… Uh… dead animals. He laughed and was reluctant to enjoy the joke. I saw Harold and Maude and I finally got it. I guess.

      Do you want to know the joke? Too bad!!

      Huh.

      Well?

      What do you need?

      Okay.

      Bark dust.

      Oops.

      What do you call a cremated dog?

      Oh, shit. I failed.

What Do O’s Feel Like?

“Oh dee O!”

      Well, one pops ’em out of a box and hopefully you add some milk and sugar and go for it. I use a Cool Whip container to have more of ’em because a bowl doesn’t belong in the bedroom at night. You could step on it and the ceremic will cut your foot.

    What you want is total satisfaction, right? Bring the box and milk with you.

     And what do O’s feel like? Who cares! Its nutty goodness out of a factory! They probably add weird crap that causes health problems. That’s why eating Toasty O’s is good naughty night time fun! The more sugar, the more you will die a lot. What is so bad about a little death?

What Do O’s Feel Like?

      Well, one pops ’em out of a box and hopefully you add some milk and sugar and go for it. I use a Cool Whip container to have more of ’em because a bowl doesn’t belong in the bedroom at night. You could step on it and the ceremic will cut your foot.

    What you want is total satisfaction, right? Bring the box and milk with you.

     And what do O’s feel like? Who cares! Its nutty goodness out of a factory! They probably add weird crap that causes health problems. That’s why eating Toasty O’s is good naughty night time fun! The more sugar, the more you will die a lot. What is so bad about a little death?

Oh-Kay

How are you?
1) O.k.
2) OKay
3) O.W.

If you answered 1, “o.k.”-
      you are a contemporary.
   Same with 2.
One theory says it comes from “all correct”…

Simplifying to phonetic with a spin it becomes oll korrect…
Then “okay”, “o.k.”

#3 is the predessesor.
OW is
“Oll wright”.
    As in “ALL (is) RIGHT
Kind of dumb?
THAT is the point.

I suppose saying “o.k.” is less annoying than “IDK”- I dunno.
Why do you not know?

I analyze my feelings to the marrow. I like to say I am okay (o.k.) if people ask because (A) I am alive.

There is no B. Or C. Or more, because I have a painful condition. It gives me sick ideas that I think are minimally offensive and maximally entertaining… to a low level of pro writer.

My ideas to me are hell.
If someone asks me, “What is on your mind?” And I say, “Oh I am so glad I am 40 and not 15 (I flashback less now).”
I endured a hernia for a year and at first the pain shot into my back.

       It was more fantasticly awesome than a near death experience because of how very truly Auschweitz the pain was for the next 18 months. I have a level of autism spectrum disorder along with hereditary angioedema. I could not define or express my pain.

         I freaked my mom out. Adults should have known better than to teach ANY kid that God sends unbelieving persons to hell. There should be a license for that. There isn’t.

    There was a big emphasis that you feel good when you know God loves you.

So I:

Had a religion over my head.
Had a very finite way to deal with pain.
Had maximum pain. And I still do. HAE is an “8 everyday” pain.

Honestly, I redid my mind.
I figure with this eating me, Aesop’s lion with a thorn is me. My rescuer? Not a mouse.

Actually, I ransacked the old religion and put the man with a wood throne from 33 A.D. next to me. Crucified, we talk back to back for LIFE. I deserve what? That old argument of sin and scumbags is dead. I have needs and my sin is being pathetic.

       You would never know what I feel if you met me. I am one of God’s best kept secrets.

     As for you, are you o.k.?

     If you donate a $1,000,000 love gift to my mini-series, ministries, menses- you would be a knuckle-head.
I don’t have that.

     In Arabia they call my stare way to heaven “Isa Il-masaih”. I stare away like a goober St. Bernard… he drags me along the sea shore.

     ONE set of foot prints the whole way. And kicks and tons of dog shit.

     Are you suprised to hear a holy man say shit? I am not holy. Shit, man… HE is.

    The military has an allowance of cussing. In the Lord’s army, I avoid fuck the f-bomb. I mean I avoid the f-bomb. Why? One reason. I don’t know what the hell it means. I am not speaking in tongues here. Every language of man is junk weight.

     You ever frame a word that you have said?

    I frame in my head.
I do not know how that works.

  A scripture says

May God be true and every man a liar. I am bracing myself. Stellar order and mercy will come to me yet again.

Keelahhh!!

     Guns don’t kill people
I don’t kill people
     Bullets don’t kill people
Actually they do…..

    No the bullets go through people
    The pathway of harm kills people

     No its the lost of blood
     Actually what if its only
       internal bleeding?

Internal bleeding is not a laughing matter.

      Why is it called bleeding when the blood is IN ya?

      I have blood inside my veins, damm.

      And I don’t bitch that I internally bleed.

      What if an erythrocyte escapes and I have a bloody nose??

      If I tell a doctor I am bleeding internally, which is TRUE, he would call an ambulance!

       That is like $500,000

       That would be stupid.

       So doctors kill people.
They pronounce us dead.

       Maybe if doctors don’t enunciate, more cadavers would have a frickin chance!

       Anybody can look at a clock and kill someone like Darth Vader with a voice of death

       But no! I refuse to believe my doctor would do that.

       So aliens dress up like doctors and that explains the stories about butt searches and bright lights

       I friggin hate to have my butt looked at

      Why don’t they make a little robot probe controlled by a monkey who is trained?

      Doctor in my butt is gay

      But they once gave my propenol

      And looked at my ass in July

      My colon is quite lovely in July

      Just kidding. That is really twisted. They did a colonoscopy

       I am 40. You cannot go to first grade without shots and a colonoscopy.

       Wait. They lied.

       I did not need to redo first grade.

       Life isn’t fair.

       I feel stupid. My mom made me birthday cupcakes and all that.

        No, not recently. 35 years ago.

         You are all over the place… if you get hit by a truck.

          You were hit??

          I am calling 911. You will probably bleed to death. Externally. If you were hit and do not bleed, that is YOUR business.

          Only ninjas keep their blood in.

          If you are a ninja you would kill me.

          If you knew who I was.

      But I will not tell you I am a ninja slayer.

           Oh. Au! Damm. I’m not.
No, you got me. Statego! Yahtzee! No Whammies! Demons out!

          I have to go.

You Two For Free

And you givvvve

And you givvvve

And you GIVE
        YOUR ALBUM
     AWAYYYYY

LOL

“Ayy.. we uz add thih pub
An the Edge he say, ‘Adam
maybe if’n ya poz nekkid anodder tyme’ an
Adam (hesoftspokenasitis you know) he lydes up a cigarret and says

No

And Im like laffin me-ass off de whole time and we said ‘aw stuff it’ just lets put the album out fa freeee

And the IRA actually sen us a get well card nah im just fula shait…

Love Boat Theme Song

The new Canadian National anthem song

Same lyrics

(Flagged for 200+ categories to ensure internet lumen clotting!)

Fork A Rook

Omar and Ren were playing chess and had this discussion:

Dunacycle

The pieces were all set and Ren said, “I invented a religion today that works.”

Omar: Lets hear it

Ren:   Okay. Lets assume we are dead already and this is the afterlife. God is still relevent

Omar: But no meeting God…

Ren: How would you know if you had not?

Omar: There is still pain

Ren: But destruction is beautiful. Look at your recyclable paper coffee cup

Omar: tastes a little like paper? What are you going to do with your idea?

Ren: I intend to present this idea and use the bishop to fork the idea over.

Omar: imaginary afterlife, thats placebo?

Ren: You know how it is… as long as you mean well, “what does truth matter?”

Omar: What is truth?

Ren: Exactly

______________

Author aside…

I am Andrew Harrison and actually exist.
Yay

I wanted to show how I think.
Philosophically.
With an angle toward psychologiclal, existential, metaphysical, practical, everyday, good humored, fun loving
craft of expression. Its similiar to how I talk everday. Mindful of feeling accurately and gingerly the world around me as I am on, I suppose, what you would call a walk in life.

    Crawling as a baby, walking talking growing…

    Now I am a man. Not overnight.
Your see that I am into perspective.

I do like to “look up”

Andrew
Harrison

(Fresh unfrozen ego)

The Unpage

According to an internet programme, I was conceived on July 4th, 2014… let’s say… at 6:30pm. Zygote genesis! So then, I am 40 years, 1 month 26 days 4 hours 46 minutes 2:00045 seconds old.
As a genetic unit and body.

Since I was chance before then, all the components of my body existed 7 days prior arguably mature and ready as a speratazoa in STOCK with 200 million other losers (no offense) and an OVA, nearer in the ovary, right or left to be released. Since my ingredients, definitely BOUND to meet by CHANCE, are apart- they are not divided.

     So there I am, ready to live, perfectly not assembled… but definititely not DISASSEMBLED.

    If I was a zygote and did not attatch to the uterine wall, I would find no furtherence and decompose. I would be obliterated. Since half of all conceptions do not take, this means there could have been at least 14 billion people by now. Or more.

     I see no tradgedy at least in a natural occurance. A zygote slips. Now miscarriage is more personal.

     Say if a boy is pitched a baseball and hits it 4 times and misses once, does he stop baseball totally? He could.

    Do we value life correctly? Am I an old zygote? Seriously. I have eaten food and added to my mass for 39 years. Me being lost in a river and going into the ocean is no problem for the fish. The ocean would pick me apart. I am biologically sound. The earring in my ear would last and maybe rust or calcify and my bones would last. Now see, at investigating the Titanic, bodies certainly were TRAPPED, and none werd found. Sea water is an eraser.

      So those fine people aboard who were loved became disassembled. We say they died.

    They died.

   Fine. But did they die forever. Who started life? Who in the heck knew my spermy and eggy one WEEK before I became a blooby pre-baby zygote?

    God.

   I was like dead then in May 1973 before my Mummy and Daddy got drunk in love and kicked their shoesies off and said, “Let’s make a miracle!”

   Who is in control?

   God.

   Who knows when I will die?

  God.

Who knows the very day I will die?

  God.

Who knows I write this now and smile?

  Only God.

Who is nice to me?

Ummm. People.

Who do I thank?

God.

So is God a big deal to Andy?

Yep.

Who is Andy and a whole lot of people and Earth important to today.

Mmmm. God.

So that sound okay to you guys?
I know I need answers and love and keep it light. And fresh and smarty.
Boy do I like to have a smarty good fun time!