So, apparently, if you've titled your post, The Cunnilingus Pun, you invite at least one page view on a day like today. Sorry to disappoint whoever Googled Cunnilingus and got Something Else instead. Haha.
Some thoughts.
Firstly, I've just been introcuted to Tony Robbins. I'm sorry, I've just been introduced; I don't know what introcuted means. And, I've been introduced to Tom Robbins, not Tony Robbins. Tony Robbins is a motivational speaker. Tom Robbins is a brilliant writer. So perhaps I've been introcuted to Tony Robbins after all, since I wouldn't know exactly what that entails. Inanity aside, Jitterbug Perfume has hit me like a healthy beet to the head, and the lump that's swelling there is a welcome one.
That said, I had an unusual sex dream last night. "Leave it to dreams to do what our hands or partners have not." It started as a 64-bit Legend-of-Zelda style minigame of chicken, in which (young) Link has to collect more rupees than the Centipede. The rupees are all on a platform that is sinking. If he stays on it too long he gets sucked into a vortex, but you have to collect rupees until the very last second if you want to beat the Centipede. When you have enough you swim upwards, and win the game. It took me three tries.
After you win the Centipede gives you a majic mirror-lantern that releases a bright light. The mirror turned into striptease, which turned into a couple having sex. I had trouble going back to sleep after I woke up from this.
Part of the reason is because, when I did finally lay back down, Jim Carey was in the back of my brain, having a tantrum and trying to break his way out. When that subsided, I was left having a conversation with a disembodied Robin Williams, who sounded a bit like Robert DeNiro. This was broken up when a troupe of Russians sidled up to my brain, coming in from the cold, and asked for a drink. A Yuppie showed up and was annoyed because the bar didn't serve coffee. After last call I had to shepherd a herd of people out of my head, and when it was finally empty I was left in my restaurant, quiet and dark. I finally fell back asleep.
"Idiots are the ones who, while the ship is sinking, wait in line to use the bathroom."
Why did I abbreviate "Part II" as "Prt. II"? Just WHAT is the point of leaving out a single A? We my never know...
I think I'm going to start calling farm veterinarians Bull Mechanics.
I began to read Moby Dick again, which is a fantastic novel. However, whales have now begun to breach the surface of my tedium. Where they always there? In two weeks I have had unusual instances of whales, which I will lay down here, ハーマン·メルヴィルの書き込みと同じように。
(That's Japanese, which I don't even pretend to speak. But, if the translation is good, which I doubt, it's a suitable way to end the thought.)
1. Marcel LeFever of Jitterbug Perfume wears a whale mask.
2. There is a Spermaceti on the base of the North Coast PranQster tap handle at work.
3. I saw a tourism commercial that touted Whale Watching on the Pacific Coast on the big screen one evening at work. I have never seen this commercial before.
4. Er, there was a fourth but it got away.
Am I finally noticing whales that have been there all along, or I am I a-whale hunting as a member of the Pequod's crew? Ahab thinks of nothing but whales, and most significantly, the White Whale. I've been trying to compare myself to Starbuck, but I have to decide if my boss is Ahab, or if I am. I don't think I'm crazy enough, yet, and Robin Williams by way of Robert DeNiro agrees.
2010: Moby Dick, by the way, is an awful, awful, little bit of cinematography. No White Whale there. Metaphorically, or literally. The whale in the movie is black, which just goes to show that the harpooners taking aim at that film really missed their marks.
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