Today, in Lenox, Massachuesetts, something very, very quaint happened. Pie baking contest? Nope. Harvest festival? Wrong! Butt party? Dude, that doesn't even mean anything. What actually happened was this:
THE MOTHERFUCKING TUB PARADE!!!
This parade, which happens every September on Lenox's Main Street, celebrates rich people who died a long time ago and the horses that dragged them around, because walking is for the poor. When I arrived at the site of the parade, I was greeted by the smell of popcorn and of horse turds. See these kids in red shirts? Their job is to pick up the turds. You think I'm kidding. I'm not. These kids pick up shit. This job is what's known as a "resume builder".
While watching this historical parade I was greeting with astonishing sights and sounds, including this fat little philly running its little legs off to drag a rich lady around. I tried to embed the video. But nope, that sure didn't work. Here's a link, though. This horse wishes that it could eat the rich lady.
But he didn't eat her. And before any of us knew it, hell-on-wheels came roaring down the road, complete with a dude in a hat blowing a horn. It was the best day of my life. I love you, rich people.
Friends! This is a most joyous day! What could have been the last day in the history of stuff turned out to just be Wednesday! You see, this morning scientists in Geneva tested a horrible death machine that could have annihilated the entire world. I woke up this morning expecting to look out my window and see a big black hole coming my way, or at least some strangelets lurking around. But nope. It wasn't dying time. It was sandwich time.
To learn more about why we aren't dead right now, read this.
It is clearly time for celebration. Here is a video of an excellent party at which nothing at all goes wrong.
"Celebrate good times COME ON!" - Kool and the Gang
This officially ends the 413some's preoccupation with science and death. From here on out it's all about drinking and being fancy.
This week has been boiling over with exciting scientific news. I guess this is only fair, since this will be the last week that ever exists (see previous post - we are all definitely going to die on Wednesday). If the Large Hadron Collider doesn't turn us into strangelets, we have some pretty amazing things to look forward to. These include the next 'sode of Gossip Girl and SPACE ROPE!
This is what the space rope will look like. It will look like a boner.
I am almost entirely ignorant as to how the space rope works, but I understand it this way: there's a big old rope hanging on down from outer space, and if you grab onto it tight enough the you get whisked up into space. That's it. Wanna go to space? Problem frickin' solved!
Here are some examples of conversations that will happen all the time once the space rope is operational:
Mom: Where's Dave? Son: Space. Mom: How'd he get there? Son: Rope.
Friend 1: What are you doing today? Friend 2: Probably get a sandwich, gotta swing by the cell phone store, then I'm gonna go to outer space real quick. Friend 1: Sweet.
Wife: Why are you applying Vaseline to your chest and groin? Husband: Space rope burn.
In case you are still not shaking with excitement over the space rope, check out this professionally taken photograph showing how cool I look while using the space rope. Naked babes love the space rope. The future is gonna rule.
Friends, these are tumultuous times. We live on the brink of global destruction. I'm not talking about nuclear war or those disappearin' bees, and I don't even believe in "global warming". I'm referring, of course, to the imminent threat posed by the LARGE HARDON COLLIDER!
This device is so large and deadly that it's like the four horsemen (I just realized that the word "semen" is totally in horsemen. Hehe. Also, "hardon" is in chardonnay.") of the apocalypse assembled themselves into one giant machine, like the Power Rangers except with less implicit racism.
This is the biggest machine ever made by anyone in history (Take THAT, ancient Egyptians with your faggy pyramids!). It was built to test some guy's theory of this that and the other thing, and it's 17 miles big. And when they switch it on this wednesday, we're all going to fucking die, forever.
Despite the device's hilarious name, it sadly does not look anything like this:
I bet you are full of questions at the moment. Some of them might include, "Why is this dick machine or whatever it is gonna kill me?", "What will the end of the world be like?", and "What unbelievable material is that cactus guy's wife's V made of?" These are all excellent questions, to which I have nary an answer. All I know is that I am scared. I'm scared of black holes and strangelets and giant colliding hardons and anything else that can destroy the earth in a matter of minutes. If you too would like to be scared shitless, I invite you to take a gander at this terrifying science video.
Try and have a good night's sleep this wednesday, I dare you. And if we're still here on thursday then I will have a giant fucking high-five waiting for you because, bro, we survived acocalypse.
Update: After several people rightly pointed out that this blog post makes no sense whatsoever, I have decided to post a link that actually explains what the Large Hadron Collider is. Here you go, friends.
Q is for quips, witty or otherwise U is for the understanding in your brother's eyes E is for everything love is about E is for echoes of whispers and shouts F is for finally, life is restored! S is for silently we strum our chord.
Unless you are a deaf retard you have probably heard about the movie that Ang Lee is currently filming in New Lebanon, NY. If you are in fact a deaf retard then, uhhhh, sorry you got a raw deal, bro. Life is like a box of chocolates or whatever. The movie is called Taking Woodstock, and it's about hippies.
Here's Mr. Lee with a shiny piece of gold he no doubt stole.
Wikipedia summarizes the film's plot thusly: "The film, based upon the book of the same name, follows the true life story of a closeted gay man hiding his orientation from his family, through the Stonewall Riots in New York City, which is seen by many as having started the modern Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender movement, through one of the defining counter-culture events of the generation. Aspiring Greenwich Village interior designer, Elliot Tiber's parents owned a small motel in Upstate New York and in 1969, Tiber held the only musical festival permit in the entire town of Bethel, New York, both of which Tiber offered to the Woodstock Festival's organizers."
BO-RING!
If I want to see/smell hippies I'll go to see a Ratdog cover band at Nectar's. But this brings us to an interesting point. There are, in fact, several kinds of hippies. Through a process similar to that proposed by Darwin in his theory of natural selection, all modern forms of hippies descended from one common ancestor, who almost certainly smelled terrible. Scientists have reconstructed this crude rendition of what the original hippie may have looked like: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ... A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace, bro." (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8) He forgot the "turn, turn, turn" part.
This hippie of old has been replaced by several new, less tolerable forms.
This hippie's name is Trey, and he is a weemo. Trey used to be in a band called Phish. They spelled it with a "ph" because the pH scale is used to test acidity, and they love acid. I just made that up, but it totally sounds believable, doesn't it?. They actually spelled it that way because, uhhh, who even cares. Phish is a terrible band and their phans are phucking inphuriating.
Another insufferable breed of hippie is this kind, the one that cares about important things. These hippies try to change the world by protesting, but what they fail to realize is that by vocally appealing to the powers that be in an attempt to prompt change, they are in fact reaffirming the very power structures that they aim to dismantle and casting themselves as powerless. ZING!
These are the Weathermen. They enjoy wearing sunglasses and blowing themselves up. There are not very many of them left.
So, now that Phish has broken up, protestors have been classified as terrorists, and the Weathermen have exploded their own brains, who is left to carry the hippie torch?
THIS GUY!
Sweet bush, Devendra. Natalie, I'd recommend getting checked for craberoos.
