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I Hate . . .

I hate pictures of cabins near a river and mountains. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I hate pictures of cabins near a river and mountains.  




I hate boobs.  You know, the ones working for the government.


I hate golf.  How silly to whack little white balls all over the countryside.


I hate watching other people whack little white balls all over the countryside.


I hate History.  How tiresome to hear History say the same thing over and over again.


I hate parents who kill their children.  (This doesn't include God who drowned all his children except for Noah.)


I hate toilets when they show up at social functions.


I hate paper.  I don't know why, but suspect paper is connected to pictures of cabins near a river and mountains.


I hate dreams that do not come true.


I hate time, but not all the time.


I hate private detectives investigating my privates.


I hate blogs about hate.


And, finally, I hate running out of things to hate.

ON DREAMS

I had a dream that the world ended, but Donald Trump was still President of America.  The world ending made it hard for President Trump to build a wall.  There was no place to build a wall, and there were no people to keep out.  But President Trump built the wall anyway.  The wall went on to star in its own Unreality TV show.



A group of hostages, who were being held hostage by fruit gone bad, took me hostage.  The hostages said that they would let me go if I woke up.  I woke up and they let me go.



I dreamed I was sleeping and awoke to discover my dream was true.



A bus claimed that I got it pregnant.  It was hard to tell the bus was pregnant because it was naturally big.  
I wasn't sure I was the father.  I remember sleeping on the bus, but I don't remember sleeping with the bus.
How relieved I felt when the bus gave birth to a broom.  I knew I wasn't the father.



I dreamed that my cell phone lost me, and I was never found.

BOOKS THAT EXIST SOMEWHERE

A Beginner's Guide To Farting

               by A. Hole

How To Meditate During Rush Hour

               by Tom Traffic 

Dreams and Chairs

         by Sigmund Seat

The Wizard of Nothing

By Nick Naught

Sleeping With Your Eyes Closed

by Denise Dozing

 

Wonder In Wonderland

by C. Curi Osity

A Clockwork Apple

by C. Fruit

For Whom The Bells Jingle

by Santi Claus

The Catcher In The Baseball Field

by Homer Plate

Catch-3.14159265358979323846

by Joke Heller

I DON'T KNOW

There are many things that I don't know.  Here's a few of them:


I don't know whether the Chess Club will join with the Chest Club to play boobs on a board.


I don't know whether rug hookers will ever be arrested for prostitution.


I don't know whether the Knitting Club will knit warm knots for winter. 


I don't know whether The Repair Shop can fix my life.


I don't know whether Elmer the Elephant remembers that he borrowed 50 peanuts from me on June 31,1999.


I don't know whether a flower has ever said, "No!" to a bee.


I don't know whether dreams come true.  They may be incapable of having orgasms.


I don't know whether the sun gets a tan.


I don't know where I am going, but I hope I get there soon.


I don't know when to stop . . . Wait a minute, yes I do.

IF I WAS NOT A FUNNY BONE TECHNICIAN . . .

If I wasn't a funny bone technician, then I would like to work at:

- Being a guide human for blind dogs;

- Being paid to be shade for the Sun;

- Being a dictionary to give meaning to everything;

- Being an employee of a home for chewed food;

- Making catalogues of all the catalogues in the world; 

- Being the space in some peoples' heads;

- Building airplanes so more time can fly;

- Having a garden of peas for the world (World Peas);

- Teaching creative sensitivity to help people get their poetic license;

And finally, if I was not a funny bone technician, then I would like to be the stuff that dreams are made on, and round my little life with sleep.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .

WHY?

Why is the Monday after Easter Sunday a holiday?   Did Jesus need a day to recover after rising from the dead?

Why is water wet?   Would we save time if water was dry?

Why does bus rhyme with Gus?  Why doesn't bus rhyme with orange?

Why is hot not hot when it's cold?  Why is cold not cold when it's hot? 

Why don't bad smells bother dogs?

Why don't dreams get released on DVD's?

Why aren't more lies true?

Why is why why?  Why isn't why x or z?

Why is it so hard to blog with limited Internet access?



REASONS TO KILL MYSELF

Sure I'm depressed over being lonely, homeless, jobless and broke.  But this is no reason to want to kill myself.  If I were going to kill myself, then it would be for serious reasons such as . . .

- Being forced to watch the movie made from The Merriam-Webster Dictionary

- Constantly having dreams that I was sleeping

- Discovering that William Shakespeare played a role in the Kennedy assassination

- Going back to school with a bunch of fish

- Believing what I think I believe I think I believe

- Being told that what I think I believe I think I believe is not true

- Finding out that I am mortal, and only have another 347 years to live

- Going through puberty for a third time  (The second time was worse than the first.)

- Dating a chimney and having the relationship go up in smoke

- Being unable to return my defective brain because I lost the receipt

- Discovering  that I do not have the courage to face life indirectly

- Not being able to cause a pain in necks or other body parts that are lower

And finally, I would kill myself if I learned that this blog has no nutritional value.