Communication with sea life

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Sun, 17 Feb 2013 17:23:02 -0600

Title: When You Put Your Ear to a Seashell Shaped Telephone, You Won’t Hear the Ocean but You Will Hear a Dial Tone

Synopsis: Will you be my quesadilla princess? This question and dozens of similar oddities await you inside, When You Put Your Ear to a Seashell Shaped Telephone, You Won’t Hear the Ocean but You Will Hear a Dial Tone. This book contains a collection of stories and illustrations crafted with the short attention span in mind. Inspired by a twisted perspective of perfectly normal everyday people, places and things, readers should be prepared to question everything they ever thought about pork tenderloin, Stephen King, and Lunchables.

Example: Stand on the edge of outer space and consider bread nipples. Your dreams only come true when you’re considering whether or not peeling yourself like a purple onion will bring you closer to understanding why freaks like their milk with a side of malted prune residue. The sensation created when you talk about things related to daddy monsters directly corresponds to moon parties thrown by little guys swinging dandelion umbrellas by their pinkies.

Unleash the beast who is performing a perfect pike position while hovering above ground at an altitude of 9 fun. It will help you take the greatest pleasure in indulging in a bath of discarded floppy disks covered in purple honey and glue. The harvest yields a bounty of dead fisherman who spent their lives waiting for the perfect smiling tuna with horn rimmed glasses and a mohawk Rufio would be proud of.

keeping a poultry diary

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 16:15:34 -0600

Instagram this pony thief wearing oreo-shaped headphones as he teaches pig daddies how to cook themselves over an open flame. Promises made while we were reclining in the solar system weren’t kept for a reason. Observe John as he juggles wontons filled with old jelly and cynical, growling midgets trying to punch through the gelatinous membranes of Asian pastries.

On another note, relax about bitching wives who insist on jacking up the price of Aqua Net on Mother’s Day. They’re just peeved about having to put the toilet seat down after John Ackroyd takes a piss and staples his shirttail to the hand towel. Don’t mistake death for the feeling of liquid evaporating through your pores as you sit in the dust chamber of a vacuum.

taking a sledgehammer to a pretzel

Wed, 02 Jan 2013 15:38:37 -0600

If you ever catch a dad mumbling in a souped up rocking chair, you know he’s probably dreaming of pissing on fireflies and taking out his anger on kale plants with a weed wacker. It’s the rising of the potato man at every quarter moon that can make a person go crazy and put on bat wings made out of a dozen or so fruit rollups all stapled together.

He who hangs out in a snow suit is likely to behave in a way comparable to the Pillsbury Doughboy on a rampage in Daytona Beach. Raking your lawn full of Almond Joy bars isn’t the way you thought your day would start, was it? It never is. Get out your video camera when fun-sized candy bars whip their way into your home and pelt your kids with chocolate lashes of criticism and artificial coconut flavoring.

playing solitaire with a python

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 11:34:21 -0600

Take a pit stop to laugh at dead bread at home, home on the range. This excessive behavior makes your teeth look like pretentious female deer who wince at things related to bat hooves and miracle dragon putty. Why do you insist on behaving like hair is a renewable resource? Everyone knows that once you reach a height 245 centimeters your scalp starts smiling and your head transitions to a happy dome of pink chalk and wonton wrappers.

For one minute, pretend like Peter Brady is your dad. I’d like you to perform when I clap my hands and give you the secret gypsy signal we’ve all been taught to ignore. If braille were made out of Pop Rocks and everyone licked signs instead of feeling them, all of our heads would explode. That sums up the fear everyone has about rabid giraffe tribes enslaving humans and making them baste turkeys with motor oil.

a cornucopia of puke dragons

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 17:40:14 -0500

Are you ready to get weird toasters in the mail? Inhaling the beautiful notes of poppyseed and fermented rosemary, one can speculate that this disaster area used to be home to femur magic and bogus pony dads. It’s never as severe as you think it’s going to be, even in circumstances when you don’t understand why jello molds shaped like sarah jessica parker sell more quickly than badger puffs.

Look me in the eyes and distract me while you take off your nose and hold it up to the nearest tornado siren. Your senses intimidate the loneliest pool boy who is trying to save up enough money to teach pork how to turn back into pigs. Whistle bad tunes into chlorinated body bags. Dead guys drool when corn cobs smile and take pictures of milk potties.

fuzzy sharks take time

Mon, 24 Sep 2012 12:37:21 -0500

Will you be my quesadilla princess? I’ll drive over your face with my purple Scion while muttering lines from your favorite episode of “Married with Children.” If you took Danny DeVito’s lifestyle and idealized it in a way only repurposed otters could think about, you’d have a messy diaper filled with truffle mac & cheese and thawing Wonder Bread scraps.

Donkey lies make tiny feet kick cranberries off of scaffoldings made of pretzel rods and funny dumbs. It’s like soccer took on a new meaning and forced Pat to take a leap of faith and scream about blood buckets and yesterday’s garbage. I hope you find meaning in those crawl space tours you like so much. Poppy Sanchez is waiting for you to send him a LobsterGram.

ticklish pocket thieves

Tue, 18 Sep 2012 14:22:06 -0500

Stand on the edge of outer space and consider bread nipples. Your dreams only come true when you’re considering whether or not peeling yourself like a purple onion will bring you closer to understanding why freaks like their milk with a side of malted prune residue. The sensation created when you talk about things related to daddy monsters directly corresponds to moon parties thrown by little guys swinging dandelion umbrellas by their pinkies.

eating moss on a first date

Fri, 14 Sep 2012 09:38:31 -0500

Insult me while I dance on the physical representation of your sorry life story. It takes one to be one, Patrick says. Sip hot lava through a bendy straw instead of piercing it with a tuning fork and singing through clenched teeth. If you smile at the left corner of your bathroom mirror, it will only be a matter of time before dudes come out of your pipes and sing you lullabies while you perform tricks on your ancestor’s snare.

It will take all of the bone juice in the world to penetrate the thick cloud of Douggie Spectrum clogging up my retinas. Why would I buy a bread machine only to speed up the spin cycle when washing baby corn? It’s like an avalanche of smoked gouda took over Annapolis, Maryland and squeezed all of the orange fabric into a messy pulp of nectarine ashes. Call me when it’s my turn to get a piggyback ride from Stephen King.

crafting a pebble from dish soap

Thu, 23 Aug 2012 10:05:28 -0500

Remove the stick of butter from your ear canal and wish upon a dude. Taking a horoscope and putting it in a mixing bowl of sadness will help you reflect on your decisions influenced by horse men and sacrificial peanut gravy. I want to cover your black feet with a hope blanket and send you well wishes for a life of fertility and moody moms. It’s a little crazy how much a shoe full of cookie dough will change your perspective on predicting the weather.

Call me pizza craft. I can’t wait to share your pocket dust with my family over dinner. It takes the edge off of the talks no one wants to have. Don’t we all want to be understood without speaking a word? Take a cupcake and put it in the morning machine to make a muffin. It’s as simple as splitting peas and keeping the peace.

making a deal with bonnie

Thu, 16 Aug 2012 09:05:51 -0500

Preach about intergalactic species taking over Planet Weird. A hairbrush only goes so far as a paddle for spanking misbehaving children on the brink of setting their family heirlooms on fire with a blow torch. Take this White Castle crave case and show me what your insides are made of. Never underestimate the power that bacon-flavored laundry detergent has on premature babies talking about how they’ll make their parents breakfast when they’re old enough to reach the stove.

I dare you to create a figment of imagination so potent your nostrils will flare at the sight of pandas on their hind legs, waving cans of soup and pinto beans in a circular motion above their heads. It’s exhausting trying to strategically draw a mole on your face that doesn’t look like a mistake. Obviously you put your makeup on in the dark this morning.

beat everyone at mind reading

Tue, 07 Aug 2012 11:12:56 -0500

To be perfectly honest, the only way you’re going to get me to wear cat ear-shaped headphones is if you wrap a wonton in tinfoil, place it under my pillow and force me to dream about buckets full of talons. That’s right, I told you about the hexagonal switchblade looking for a place to call home. Take the noise that fresh macaroni and cheese makes and lay it over a stupid beat reminiscent of what jock jams sounds like on planet piss.

Give me a reason to imitate the sound bongos make when they’re thrown agains the side of a garbage truck moving at 8 miles per hour. It’s relaxing to think about the idea of giving a crow a pedicure so she has a gorgeous advantage when trying to snake some corn from your dad’s crop of pork tenderloin. After all, scarecrows are only human and can’t resist the tempting smell of skin-scented lollipops dangling from the tips of ponchos.

secrets and dandelion cavities

Tue, 31 Jul 2012 11:18:39 -0500

Extract that yoyo from the dimples of your mom’s pain cat. Her disastrous hair will depreciate in value while I assign these turtle doves a mission to uncover the mysteries of ping pong diaries. Think that was a piss adventure? If I were you, I’d refrain from gripping the steering wheel on most John Deer tractors until you’ve reached a point in your life where your hands have developed the ability to grow protective beef jerky gloves that can be regrown if you happen to get hungry.

Please keep an eye on my grape babies while I tango with the fact that one day they might be crushed into a cheap Pinot Noir. Nothing makes a mother more in love with the idea of chalk than knowing her fruit children will one day grace the lips of many an underaged corn dweller with the desire to lasso the moon for a dollar. That’s right. Roundhouse kick my chimney until you think you’ve mastered the skill of making an outhouse into a nursery.

pot roast fiends on a quest for domestic tranquility

Thu, 19 Jul 2012 17:10:41 -0500

Crack me over the head with a monkey wrench artificially dotted with spots from an ailing Dalmatian. Speaking of being awful, pardon me while I squeeze talon-shaped tentacles and mash them to a glittering pulp of masticated peach pits and jewel tone Polly Pocket accessories. They taste like rainbow-fortified skim milk on the cusp of expiring and expiring the lives of those who consume the murky substance of despair and haphazardness.

I’ll pulverize your fanny pack if you touch the crab rangoon I put on a plate of meticulously crafted animal fat. I extracted it from a cow named George who was raised by my father’s grandfather in-law Tom Tom who does this kind of thing for a living. Trust him, he waits for a lot of padlocks to reach their maturity. He is the epitome of dangerous living, with the fourth finger on each hand replaced by a bandana that has been dipped in glue and baked in the oven for 6 hours.

flight of the kamikaze popcorn kernel

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 16:58:43 -0500

Take me on a piggy back ride to blue Mexico where donkeys make milkshakes out of crusty pesos and groggy hitchhikers smile while lost at sea. Manifest the lie of the century in a big bowl of soup consisting of carnivorous flies taking a peek at what life would be like without wings. It’s not so glamorous on the other side, is it Claudia?

Venturing on a trip back to five minutes ago, we can see your decisions didn’t really affect what your life would be like in five minutes. Just wait until you find me sealed up inside the belly of that neighbor you always thought had a fetish for potato pancakes. Like my dad always said in reference to cow tongues, “I don’t want to eat anything that can taste me back.”

sewing the sweater of the future

Sun, 08 Jul 2012 18:59:44 -0500

Sit back and relax while you watch me teeter on the edge of eating goose flavored macaroni and cheese and lactating apple crisp casserole. It’ll take your mind off of the fine things you never wanted at a time where ninja turtles dance the canasta tango while bitchy mermaids tune their cabbage shrugs. Take this fancy orb as a peace offering.

Don’t forget to take your church fan and toss it to the apes in the balcony who are shaving mustaches off of apple ducks. It isn’t even a realistic fantasy when all you see are baloney colored firetrucks road blocking Koopa Troopa beach on the hottest day of hate. Take a water bottle and mist me with the juices of long lost fireflies who strayed too far from their dad’s beehive of destruction.

life through caffeinated goggles

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 11:00:05 -0500

If I told you something horrible was going to happen, would you take a silly hambone and press it to your buddy’s temple? It releases endorphins that suppress feelings of misery and replaces them with candy tails on the brink of smiling about destruction. Pierce him with a pair of pliers suited for unwinding the backroads to your grandma’s torture temple.

Try to be pleased to meet your demise. The only thing certain in life is that we’ll never go back to a time without modern toilets. Thank everyone you know for supporting the production of caffeinated beverages. We’re all drones marching to the steady beat of drip coffee. Throw a tantrum. Find out what makes you not hungry and eat it.

windshield wiper turbulence

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 10:00:12 -0500

Most of the time it tickles when someone is playing cat’s cradle with your intestines. Other times it feels like someone is knitting a pretty sweater but the needles keep poking your kidneys like little men dancing on bloody umbrellas. Do me a favor and sew me up when you’re done with that. I’d like you to think of a number between 1 and 10 but then never tell me what it is. The anticipation will motivate me to move mountains like it’s Independence Day part 12.

Cry like a bitch when someone takes your sandwich and crushes it into a fine paste to smear on wounded papas. The best remedy for anything you’ve done and yet to do is eating sandpaper until your teeth look like tree stumps waiting for a spring rainstorm. What they don’t know is that they are 124 years old and that rain won’t help the mightiest flounder swim upstream in a battle to Gideon’s battlefield of moose pies.

paper clip state of mind

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 09:22:16 -0500

Tiki Tiki Timbo, a tuba full of Jello. It tumbles down the basement stairs into the abyss of rainbow fossils and peanut shells. Take a stab at creating a masterpiece of rotted fruit with the swipe of a 6 foot tall dead bird. It’s decaying and evaporating into a black cloud of angst and harmony. Instead of wallowing in a piss pot of clam shells, smile with your teeth and lick the belly of a pterodactyl cruising at 10 feet Celsius.

It’s the conundrum of being space and being in space. For all he knows it’s a tumbled mass of discarded post-its with messages written to no one in particular. Wasted words have somehow found their place in the minds of cats where onions snap their fingers and whistle tunes of toaster love. Paper clips somehow figure out how to hold it together, so we should be able to also.

bologna saddles on steroids

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 10:06:02 -0500

Take a whiff of this pumpkin pie missile of destruction. Your Thanksgiving is pretty much gone and subject to the inkling of keys of black Silestone, fresh mozzarella and pain. Make me a deal I can’t balance a pair of rusty scissors on. It’s like the end of color and a return to a ghost town of black and white corpses with McDoubles on their minds.

Decaying horses mutate the biggest deal since pistol whipping. Take a new look at what life’s handed you and make some decisions you’ve been putting off. Sounds like a crack whore’s horoscope on the cusp of self-destruction. Taking notes? Stuff the pencil of licorice and blood into a savory cup of smiles and gomers. She promises it’ll take the edge off of your helter skelter life and put some focus on Tim. Don’t eat that Lunchable.

passively watching the planet collapse

Thu, 14 Jun 2012 15:27:36 -0500

Hey, Tuesday meat eater! Why don’t you just remove the emotions from your steak so you can eat the juicy bits guilt-free? Instead of swallowing me whole, just pause to reflect on the choices you’ve made up until this point. If your friend isn’t a stripper named Applesauce, she isn’t your friend at all. You better believe I’m a nose goblin force-feeding my young the sharp part of Mark’s pineapple soufflé. Take a crash course in experimenting with tossing a globe and seeing how it affects the earth as a whole. Don’t let the piano crush tippy Tim on the way down.

If I created an anti-microwave, would you take the risk of stepping inside, pressing start and slowly freezing yourself into a piece of ice covered in flesh and hair? Your eyes could peer out and watch the years pass by without the repercussions of taking responsibility for the deterioration of the planet. When to wake up? Press clear.