If Noah only brought two of every animal on the ark, the inbreeding would result in genetic diversity catastrophe and mass extinction.
DNA didn’t just magically appear when Watson, Crick, and their lab technicians saw its shadow and declared 6 more weeks of scientific discovery.
If God doesn’t miracle up solutions for zoos searching for breeding partners for their animals now, why would he do it then?
Because, just like every other goofy story in that book which defies rational explanation and scientific basis, it’s a lie.
Suck your thumbs, humanity. Cling to your security blankets.
And never grow up.
We started with a simple black and white tube television, maybe a foot across.
Then, we got a color television.
After that, a bigger one. With stereo.
The first television I had on my own was really a VCR with a computer color monitor.
But after that, I got a nice one with a big picture tube.
And when it was stolen, a bigger one.
I moved around a bit, and settled in with my wife’s television.
Until we bought a new one. Then a flat panel.
Which is in front of the treadmill, replaced by yet another flat panel.
When you hit rock bottom
We were there for you
And when you clawed your way back up
Out of that hole
We didn’t mind
That your nails
Dug deep into our flesh
What’s pain, anyway?
Anything to help you
Get out of the darkness
And back on your feet
When you finally
Got back on your feet
The first thing you did
Was kick us all in the balls
And the teeth
And walk off
We just send
Thoughts and prayers
Beethoven was a brilliant composer.
He was also an master on the piano.
Other composers tried to steal his work and pass it off as their own.
But Beethoven’s works were so hard to play, they couldn’t manage to play them.
Composers would break their fingers and fracture their wrists in the attempt.
One had such a hard time following the notes on the page, his eyes became permanently damaged.
And then there was piece which resulted in violinists spearing the piano-playing thief of a composer through the heart with their bows.
Brilliant man, Beethoven, but a total fucking sociopath.
Writers write with pen, paper, typewriters, and computers.
Some use text to speech, where they talk, and they get text.
Voice recognition is much better these days.
Forget speech to text. I want speech to bacon.
I want to be able to say “Bacon” to a machine, and have the machine print bacon.
Fully-cooked, crispy bacon.
What would you load such a machine with?
Raw bacon? Pigs?
Certainly not turkey meat, because turkey bacon is not bacon.
When I say “Bacon” I want bacon, not turkey bacon.
And when I say “Turkey Bacon” I want bacon. Because I said “Bacon.”
He thinks too much.
Thoughts roll around in his head.
Over and over.
Always thinking, never doing.
Trapped in thought, frozen.
He calls them the echoes.
Thoughts echoing in his head.
Things that have happened.
Things that might happen.
Things that never happened. But should have.
He’s just sitting there, thinking.
What are you thinking about?
Why are you thinking about it?
What are you going to do about it?
Think some more.
And then some more.
Keep thinking about it.
Over and over.
When will you stop thinking about it so much?
When there’s something else to think about.
It’s three in the morning, and the baby won’t stop crying.
I put on my gloves, reach into the immersion tank, and pull the baby out of its liquid Nitrogen bath.
An odd fog follows the baby and rolls off of its skin.
I lay the baby on the insulated blanket on my shoulder and rock it gently to sleep.
Then, I put the baby back into the liquid Nitrogen.
The fog envelops the baby, as I take off the gloves and blanket, and lay them on the chair.
I check my skin for burns, and go back to bed.
In my room, there’s a cabinet.
The cabinet was my grandmother’s.
Or maybe my great-grandmother’s. I can’t remember.
The cabinet has glass doors and lights in the shelves.
I keep keepsakes and memories of friends long gone in there.
I keep the doors closed, but dust always seems to get in somehow.
So, I open it up and dust everything off again.
Every piece I pick up to dust off reminds me of someone. Or some time. Or place.
Sometimes, I can’t remember.
I should write these memories down, I guess.
I close the doors and turn out the lights.
Yes, some people call me the Space Cowboy, the Gangster of Love, and Maurice, but my driver’s license says Melvin Kaminsky.
I keep a to do list in my smartphone:
Pick, grin, love, sin, play my music in the sun, joke, and smoke.
Oh, and a reminder to toke up at midnight.
Okay, so I usually don’t wait until midnight to toke.
And I play my music inside while I play Warcraft.
And grin. I grin a lot, too.
And eat Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes. And pizza.
At least when I order from Domino’s, I use the name Space Cowboy.
My iPhone wouldn’t wake up.
I pressed the home key, but it didn’t respond.
It didn’t respond when I pressed the lock key, either.
When I plugged the phone in, it didn’t respond.
Is the Apple Store open? Is it still under warranty? How much will this cost?
So, I Googled “iphone doesn’t respond” on my laptop.
The Apple website told me to press and hold the home and lock keys at the same time for ten seconds.
And I did that.
The Apple logo appeared on the screen, and thirty seconds later, thankfully, the home screen appeared.