Superpig

Superman can do anything, and I mean anything. Tall buildings, you got it. Go back in time, piece of cake. But could Superman make a burger franchise that was so good that even HE could never stop eating there?

I Stumbled into this comic cover amongst a collection of funny comic covers. It is so hilarious that I decided to investigate further, and was able to find the comic. I present for you the amazing humor available in Action Comics #454, "Superman's Energy-Crisis" (click here for credits). And see further below for an advertisement for pies featuring Batman. Superheroes love pigging out!


Later, he has trouble after saving the day:


Of course, he goes to the center of the earth to calm his hunger, and everything works out in the end:


Now, if that wasn't funny enough, there was also this ad in the first pages of the comic:


BRIAN OUT.

My Brain Age

I have a game on my phone called "Brain Exercise", which allows me to play games that determine the age of my brain (very scientific I'm sure). (NOTE: See updated brain age data here!)



I plotted out the results from when I got it at the beginning of December 2008 and it turns out that, on average, my brain has aged 2.7 more years than it's actual age (25). So THAT's why I'm so mature.

Mean = 27.7 | Median = 27 | Mode = 20 | Actual Age = 25

The lower your brain age, the better your score, so according to a game on my cell phone, I'm actually dumber than I should be. Sounds about right. Although, you can't go below 20 (the age I achieved most), which automatically raises the average results. For all I know, I could've been doing as well as a 16 year old brain some of those times!

BRIAN'S BRAIN OUT.

jesus will protect you from setting yourself on fire

I just went for a walk to the library (sidenote: libraries are awesome, socialist, and a great means to steal music and DVDs) and found a funny public service announcement kind of thing on a COAST bus sign (see below). When I got back to my apartment, however, my amusement dwindled when I found a fear-laden christian advertisement on my door (also see below). As much as there is to say about each of these, I'd rather just point out that they seem to have a lot in common, and yet deliver messages in direct conflict.





BRIAN OUT.

indoors on a perfect spring night

uncomfortable on the couch i loaf, dog chipping at a bone by my side.
a thirties bluesman is revolutionary in the air... i breathe it in and am soothed.

of my fault, the night is closed off to me... i hear the laughter of smokers and their coughs, basking in the moonlight, never taking it for granted.

my beard stings, eyes dry, and perfectly cool water is no help, so i breathe again of the music and am strengthened.

as i approach a labored slumber, the night breaks in and swallows my fingers and eyelids... i am awake.

BRIAN OUT.

the pancake recipe

temper (verb): to bring to a proper, suitable, or desirable state by or as by blending or admixture.

we're melted butter and life is a pancake recipe.

BRIAN OUT.

Is that a poodle?

Finally got some good drum tracks to play with and recorded a new song. It's called "Is That a Poodle?", which was a question a woman posed to me while I was out walking Leela.

No, she is a golden doodle. You know that. Although Amy and I spotted a young black poodle in Portsmouth that looked pretty much exactly like Leela would with a perm.

You may also note for the first time that the bass track in this song is actually deep and bassy, thanks to my E-MU.


[direct link to "Is That a Poodle?" on YouTube]

I toyed with having a spoken word kind of overlay on this song, and actually recorded myself reading a pretty heavy poem by Walt Whitman. I didn't like the way it sounded though. Either my voice didn't work or the poem didn't go with the music. No big deal. Here's the poem, anyway:

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who shall be kill’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—all the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

BRIAN OUT.

1024: Dumbening

i spelled syrup s-y-r-u-b a few days ago. i think my computer-based job is giving me dyslexia.

QRIAN OUT.

weekend mornings

for twenty five minutes i am waking up to the whining of a young golden doodle. she starts in the bed with me, pushing against Amy, digging little paws into my side. ignoring works, in a way. she sits up and cries, then hops off the bed, sits with her nose 8 inches from my ear, and continues to cry. petting results in quiet, but cannot be sustained, as i have not yet awoken entirely. i usually decide to grab her and hold her, but she thinks i am playing and starts with the teeth and tongue.

i put up with this until 6:55, and then wake up. we walk for twenty minutes and come back. i feed her. the fresh and crisp air has made going back to bed seem more like a task than a treat, so i start some coffee. she finishes her food in an instant and bolts back upstairs. she gets into the bed and sleeps for another hour or so. on my side. sometimes she uses my pillow.



BRIAN OUT.

i like to live the love i sing about

religion:

My song is a serious matter. It reflects what I feel. If I say I love you, I mean it, 'cause in my song, every line is for real. Every man or woman enjoys going home to a peaceful situation; to give love and receive love without any complications. Whether my tune is short or long, whether my lyrics are weak or strong, I like to live the love that I sing about in my song.

Music is love, and my love is music in perfect harmony. So when I sing, I have sung all about the love of you and me. I never got angry with my guitar, 'cause when I strike a chord It gives me what I wanna hear. So I'm finding out that we are quite like my song together, my dear. Outside answers should always be forbidden. Problems should be solved and never hidden. I like to live the love that I sing about in my song.

-B.B. King

BRIAN OUT.

Reply From Hannaford

I wrote a complaint letter to the new Hannaford in Dover (the one on the stretch of 108 between UNH and Dover). They had moldy onions, no good organic oranges, etc., so I wrote to them, partly hoping to improve the quality of the organic food in the store, and partly hoping to be rewarded for complaining.


[click to see larger at webshots]

$15, meh. Used that for like three organic items. The onions are still moldy.

BRIAN OUT.