Beyond.

When I hear the word beyond, it usually conjures mental images of something extraordinary. It might be the hereafter, or maybe some reality that is melded to our own which we still have to discover. Once found, everything will be different, down will be up, left will be down, up will be sideways, and hotdogs will seem kinda normal. Beyond is a word used in the intro of The Twilight Zone, you know you are leaving this reality for some wacky reality where time will stop flowing, or you will forget how to speak or some people don't have mouths or faces. Even the dictionary defines beyond as outside the scope of ordinary experience.

So, imagine my disappointment, recently, after going into Bed, Bath & Beyond. If you have not been to one recently, I invite you to peruse their wares: I give you, BED, BATH & BEYOND! In their defense, this isn't a bad store. In fact, I like going there as long as I can keep Tyler Durden's rants out of my head. But when I hear beyond, I don't think bed bath and some kitchen stuff, which, honestly, would be a better name for this store. Bed, Bath & Some Kitchen Stuff. Has a nice ring. Bed, Bath and Beyond tells me I am going to see some bedding, some bathroom stuff, and then some of the craziest things I can imagine. Hey, this is a nice sheet set, and oh, I like these towels and check this out, I just turned partially into a plant. Look over there, a giant hotdog is getting swarmed by tiny killer pancakes. Hey look, I am those people over there, and they are me! My clothes are made out of pizza. There is a swirling portal to another dimension right behind those pillows, just getting near the portal to look at the pillows makes everything look like a cartoon. I tried to go through the portal, but everytime I went in, I ended up right in front of the portal again, but the pillows are gone! The whole store is filled with llamas!

Needless to say, my shopping experience lacked the more beyond portion I had hoped for. I had hoped to come out of Bed, Bath & Beyond a changed person. I had hoped for a mind blowing experience that challenged my views of reality. Instead, I came out with some new silverware and a couple of gift certificates. My mind is not blown as I had hoped for, it is still just as intact as ever.

Community Relations.

Today while driving to work, I passed a lot of cops. By a lot, I mean at least 3, which is about 3 more than I usually see in the morning. One of the cops I passed was in a minivan, and on the side in huge lettering the van said Community Relations. I started laughing to myself, I immediately envisioned this officer pulling someone over on a busy street and caining them for all to see. I am not for sure that public cainings are in the Community Relations Officer's job description, but I am pretty sure it must be an unspoken thing. Well, actually, I don't really picture that there is a specific Community Relations Officer. I don't think most cops go into coppery to become Community Relations Specialists. I expect most cops go into it because the pay is good, you don't have to sit behind a desk all day, and you get to help people... and you get to carry a gun and give people shit and there isn't shit they can do about it oh, and the badge gets easy ladies with low self esteem! I expect that the Community Relations Officer is the Officer who is on some kind of suspension for shooting someone and getting caught. The getting caught part is the part Police Officials don't like.

I guess it isn't too strange right? Coca Cola totally has a Community Relations van, right? Oh, they don't? Hmmmmm. Other large publicly held entities don't have vans that announce their purpose is strictly for the use of relating to the community either? I am sure once this is posted, the community relations van will be here; 3 or 4 community relation stormtroopers will jump out, and toss me in a community relations body sack with a pad lock at the top, where I will be transported and held as an enemy combatant. I will let you all know how I relate to my new prison community. I wonder if they have community relations officers in prison? I can hardly wait to find out.

Lazy Susan

Yesterday on my way to work, I drove passed almost all the car dealers in the metropolis I call home. In the very first car dealer I drove by, was a car on some kind of lift, about 2 stories in the air, spinning around slowly. It was just like the gillion other cars for sale in that same lot. A spinning car, big whoop. Write about something funny, jackass. I am sure that is what you're saying to yourself, but I kinda am, so shut up and listen.

Does a spinning car make you want to buy a car more than one that is not spinning? Prolly not. Mad props to them, they got a car up where I could see it slightly better. Did I think about that car all the way to work? Not the way they intended I am sure. It didn't make me feel I wanted a new car, it made me feel like I wanted to break someone's nose. A spinning car on a lift is where it starts. Late night commercials with Cal Worthington and his crazy "dog" (which is actually a monkey or an elephant or a freaking tiger or who knows what else) is where it goes next. And from there it explodes. Clothing that is nothing more than an ad for the company that made it, oh, and it will cost me 20 bucks to wear it. Night and day calls to my home to inform me of great deals I can get on things I never even wanted. Some lady told me on the phone the other night that I needed double pain windows. I need them. She is so insensitive that she didn't even believe me when I told her I live in an old circus tent. Bitch. Peter North emailed me the other day to tell me my penis is too small and he has just the thing to make it bigger. Like he knows anything about my penis. I am comfortable with my size, anything else would be completely unwieldy. Anyways, how did putting me down and then offering to help become good advertising? It is everywhere and I am tired of it.

Here is what I suggest: Lets all ignore advertising. Confound market researchers by buying crazy stuff, and a lot of it, for a short time, and then move on to something else. First, lets make a run on peanut butter. And for no reason. Don't anyone buy anymore cars for any reason. When the peanut butter is all gone, rubberbands it is. Once they have over produced them and stores are teaming with huge bags of rubberbands, we will all stop. I can't wait to see the commercials, billboards, magazine ads and spam once companies realize we want crazy, nonsense kinda stuff.

Do unto others....

Can you imagine if you treated everyone the way you wanted to be treated? As a nation, I imagine this would vastly change our foreign policy, but that is political issue and a hot button topic, which I create, not latch onto. I don't know why things are called hot button topics. If I knew a button was going to be hot, I wouldn't touch it. And neither would anyone else. No one likes to touch things that are hot. Maybe it should be called a warm sticky button topic. Who doesn't like warm and sticky? But warm and sticky will be a future blog entry.

Life would be weird if everyone did to other people what they wanted done to themselves. If you gave someone you didn't know all your money, well that would be weird. But no one would call you stupid because no one wants to be called stupid. It sounds like a pleasant idea if everyone was really nice to one another, but I have a feeling it would be like hanging around outside a couple of days after the world trade center attack. Something just didn't seem right. Turns out there were no planes in the air. It was subtle enough that you might not have noticed there were none, but it was weird all the same. Oh, and that might not have happened either, the attack. Although it might have, because Bin Ladin didn't have any trade towers for us to knock over. Also, I think he likes negative attention. His parents probably don't love him and never got him a pony. That might lead me to Jihad too.

In some cases there are laws prohibiting me from doing things to people that I would want done to me. Where I might call it the ideal, utopian society, HR calls it sexual harassment. How are wildly good looking ladies going to know to give me a surprise hand job if I don't give them one first? And who wouldn't want a surprise hand job? Actually, if I could get a show of hands it might save future entanglements with HR.

In short, I am glad not everyone treats me the way they want to be treated. There are weirdos out there, I mean real, leather clad, pain loving, poop tasting shut-in wierdos. If anyone trys anything freaky out of the blue, I am kicking your ass. And not because I want my ass kicked, but because I don't want surprise public freakiness.